


The Little Boy and the Old Man

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Series: The Troublemaker Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 93,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: Voldemort started to make his way through the sitting-room, knowing it was only a matter of time before a small army showed up to hunt him down. Suddenly he stopped, staring intently at the tarnished mirror on the wall. He was young again. - Bellamort, Part II of the Troublemaker Series - Re-post.





	1. Book the First

**Isle of Mull, Scotland**

**1 January 1971**

Lord Voldemort whipped his wand through the frigid drizzle at the little cottage where Alastor Moody was living. He'd come here alone, the very moment that he'd received information from Yaxley and Malfoy on the Auror's location. He meant to kill Alastor Moody today. He would not leave Scotland until he was gazing upon the corpse of his enemy.

He stormed straight into the house, but, rather unsurprisingly, Alastor Moody was ready. He was waiting just inside the door, and a blast of vivid blue light flew straight from his wand as he snarled. Voldemort deflected the Stunning Spell, grinning madly as the spell dissolved into sparks that flew against the plaster wall.

"Moody, you fool," Voldemort scolded him. "Don't you know you ought to have gone straight for - no." He lazily dragged his wand through the air, blocking Moody's Full Body-Bind Curse. Moody tipped his head and said in an angry growl,

"I've orders to take you in alive. I wish I didn't have those orders."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "The Ministry is going to need to drastically escalate its tactics, Moody, or this war will be over very quickly.  _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Alastor Moody Disapparated immediately, evading the Killing Curse. It shot against the wall behind where he'd been standing, and the plaster crumbled under the destructive power of the spell. Voldemort snarled with rage, but he was not at all prepared for Moody to appear to his right, in the cramped little sitting-room, his wand aimed straight at the Dark Lord.

If he incanted a spell, Voldemort didn't hear him. Something silver-white shot like a cannon from Moody's wand and hit Voldemort so hard his knees gave out. He felt his body shifting, changing, and he had no idea what was happening to him. He turned to aim his wand at Moody again, to try another Killing Curse, but the Auror had gone. Voldemort felt strange, like his face had morphed somehow, but he had no time to worry about it now. He pulled himself off his knees and realised Moody wouldn't ever come back to this house. He gnawed on his lip, walking briskly through the house in search of anything that might be helpful or useful.

He found a letter from Dumbledore sitting out in the sitting-room, but it was dated ten days previously and was about a meeting here on the Isle of Mull that had undoubtedly already happened. Voldemort started to make his way through the sitting-room, knowing it was only a matter of time before a small army showed up to hunt him down. Suddenly he stopped, staring intently at the tarnished mirror on the wall.

He was young again.

He brought his fingers up to his face, his mouth falling open as he realised Moody had cast a spell on him to reduce his visual age. He looked perhaps twenty… twenty-five if he was being awfully generous. It might have seemed silly, like a childish spell to throw before Disapparated, but it wasn't silly at all. It was brilliant, for Moody had crippled the Dark Lord's ability to appear before his subjects. He couldn't very well gather his followers for a meeting, show up looking like he'd just graduated Hogwarts, and explain that the spell had been cast by Alastor Moody. The man would have forced Voldemort into hiding if this spell stuck around for any length of time.

" _Finite Incantatem,_ " Voldemort said firmly, gulping when his reflection did not change. He shut his eyes, feeling very angry. He needed to leave, he knew. He needed to get home and immediately set to work reversing the spell. Perhaps a very carefully brewed and administered Aging Potion, though that was unreliable and temporary. Voldemort huffed, knowing that he could only trust one person to help him out of this fix. He Disapparated quickly, coming to in the parlour of his house in London. He walked quickly toward the library, his voice sounding odd to his own ears as he barked,

"Bellatrix!"

* * *

She jolted at the sound of her name. Bellatrix was upstairs in the bathroom, having dressed for the day and cleaned her teeth. She'd just finished arranging her hair into a braid that she flung over one shoulder. She dashed out of the bedroom at the sound of her husband's call, but she skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase. She whipped her wand out of her pocket and aimed it at the young man with his hand on the bannister.

"Relax, Bella," the young man sighed. "It's just me."

His voice was a bit off, missing some of its gravel, but she recognised it just the same. She recognised his eyes, too, and the shape of his jaw. He seemed very much like the shadow of his younger self she'd perceived in a dream. In fact, he looked right about her age, and as she lowered her shaking wand, she asked,

"My Lord, what's happened to you?"

He drummed his fingers on the bannister as she descended the stairs. "Alastor Moody - rather ingeniously, I must admit - determined that a good way to weaken me as he escaped was… this. Making me look twenty-five years younger. I admit it's a good trick; I've no idea how I could possibly meet with Yaxley or Malfoy or your father or any of them looking like this."

Bellatrix chewed on her lip and tentatively reached up to touch his jaw. He was so handsome, almost achingly handsome. She thought he was very good-looking in his forties, of course, but this was different. His skin was smooth and his hair was thick. He looked like the sort of boy Bellatrix ought to have married on her way out of Hogwarts. She knew she was staring, but she couldn't help herself. He let her do it for a moment, until he finally snapped,

"Had your fill of the handsome young man I once was? Good. Let's make me old again, shall we?"

Bellatrix blinked quickly and nodded. "Yes, My Lord. Of course. I don't think we have any Reddotempus Potion, and in fact we're likely missing some of the ingredients, but -"

"Wait. What potion? What are you talking about?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and Bellatrix was overcome with a realisation.

"Moody invented the Surripiotempus spell himself," she breathed. "That's why it wasn't in our old Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks; it was new. And the potion to counter the spell… it wasn't in our books. Slughorn taught it to us himself."

Voldemort's young face seemed very irritated that Bellatrix knew something he did not. She knew far better than to tease him about that right now. Instead she shut her eyes and recalled,

"Aconite fluid. Honeywater. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat. Add a doxy egg and a finely chopped crocodile heart. Allow to simmer, uncovered, for forty-eight hours. Add a frog brain and boil for one more hour. Consume hot."

When she opened her eyes, Voldemort cocked up one of his sculpted dark eyebrows and said, "I suppose I never realised you were quite so gifted with potions, Bella."

She smiled shyly, but then shook her head in frustration. "We have all those ingredients here, but… more than two days, My Lord. There's no way to rush it, I'm afraid."

He shrugged. "Well, the rest of them will have to wait for the potion to be ready. I'm not going to face them like this."

"It isn't as though they'd be afraid of your appearance, My Lord," Bellatrix said, feeling her cheeks go hot. He tipped his face like he always did and put his full lips into a line.

"That's precisely the problem, isn't it? I look like a child."

"With all due respect, My Lord," Bellatrix gulped, "you do not look like a child. Now… shall I set about getting that potion brewing?"

* * *

Later that night, Voldemort took a shower and marveled at his naked body. He'd forgotten, after decades of slow but steady decay, the way he'd looked in his prime. His arms and chest were lean, thin even, but sinewy with tight muscle. There was not a single wrinkle on his face. Even his hands felt different in his hair as he washed it… his thick black hair without a single strand of grey. He sighed heavily as he stepped out of the shower, wondering if perhaps he ought to simply stay like this and inform his followers that he was eternally youthful. But then, no. He'd cemented his image as a stern-looking middle-aged man. The reflection he saw now in the mirror was refreshing, but not at all intimidating.

He was very aware, suddenly, of the way Bellatrix was staring at him through the bathroom door. He turned his face to her, and her cheeks stained scarlet at once. She dragged her fingers over her braid and murmured,

"I reckon you look about my age."

"Somewhere around there," Voldemort agreed. He felt self-conscious as he raked a comb through his damp hair, marveling at the resistance his heavy waves gave him. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the sink and stared at the drain, trying to convince himself not to ask her the question rattling around his mind. But he did finally say, "If you like me more like this, Bella… closer in age to you… I might - might - think about staying like this. I could, perhaps, convince everyone that it was my own doing, that I was capable of making myself young again."

Bellatrix sighed and stepped into the bathroom. She put her hand over his on the edge of the sink, and she said in a quiet voice,

"It's very interesting to see you looking this age, My Lord, but you are not this age. I've only lived nineteen years. Your own birthday was yesterday. You're forty-four. You may look young, but you aren't, and so it's just a costume, isn't it? Besides, I fell in love with a man much older than me. I don't need that to change."

Her thumb dragged over his, and Voldemort turned his face to her as he tipped his head. "I'm sure you'd rather go to bed with a boy like this than the old man you married."

She smirked and joked, "I'd go to bed with you if you looked like a snake, My Lord."

He snorted a little laugh and pulled their hands from the sink. He brought her fingers up to his chest and whispered,

"I never took a woman when I was this age. You were first… you're the only one. I never even kissed anyone. So I don't know what any of it would have felt like in this body."

Bellatrix gave him a knowing look. "Why don't you find out?"

He was pushing her back into the bedroom before he could control himself. Everything felt easier like this; moving was quicker and more effortless. He snared his arms around Bellatrix and kissed her, moaning into her mouth. She tasted exactly the same. It felt exactly as good as it always did. But his cock went hard far more quickly than usual, and he yanked the towel from around his waist and tossed it aside. Bellatrix wrapped her fingers around him and he gasped. He was more sensitive like this; his skin was more alive. He grunted and pushed Bellatrix's shoulders. She made her way onto the bed and shimmied out of her nightgown, and he was grateful to see she had no knickers on.

His fingers felt thinner, longer, and lither as they twisted into her. She stared at his young face as he hovered over her, and her own wide eyes were glassy with want. He could feel a word thrumming in her head, and when he pushed into her head, she put up no defences. She was recalling the dream she'd had of him working in Borgin and Burke's. He'd looked just like this, she was realising. And his name had been something else. Tom. Tom Riddle.

"That's not my name, no matter what I look like, Bella." Voldemort yanked himself from her head and gave her a rather menacing look. She nodded and whispered,

"I know, My Lord. I know who you are."

As if to prove her point, she rubbed her thumb over the Dark Mark that was on his left forearm. That, she would know, had not been there when he'd been this young. That had come later. Here, in this bed, no matter what, he was Lord Voldemort.

He thrust his cock into her forcefully, amazed with the speed and vigour he was able to muster. His hips jolted against her so wildly that she cried out, grasping at his arms as her back arched up. His movements went from thrusting to outright fucking; he was moving like a machine against her and wasn't getting tired in the least. But his oversensitive cock could only take so much, and within a disappointingly short time - well before Bellatrix could reach her own climax - he was pumping himself into her and snarling. He let his member slide out of Bellatrix's body, angry with himself that he'd finished so quickly. He rubbed at her, ignoring the way his seed spilled out of her body and got all over his fingers. He knew exactly what to do to make her climax, and within a few minutes, she was gasping and fisting her eyes as she clenched around his fingers.

"Tergeo," Voldemort whispered as she regained her breath. He chuckled then and sat back on his haunches. "You usually come first, don't you?"

Bellatrix smiled crookedly, taking her hands away from her eyes as she reassured him, "It still felt good, My Lord."

He tipped his head and shrugged. "Yes, well. I suppose one advantage to a man having a slightly older body is the ability not to lose himself a minute and a half in, eh?"

Bellatrix's cheeks went pink, and she reached up for his jaw as she stared at him. Her voice was soft and gentle then as she told him, "I think you're exceedingly handsome, Master. But I'll be glad when there are a few wrinkles around your eyes again. I find I rather like them."

* * *

"Right. Drink it while it's hot, My Lord." Bellatrix handed Voldemort a mug filled with the disgusting slop of a potion she'd just ladled in. He winced at the smell as he took the mug, and Bellatrix got one last look at his young, sculpted face. He couldn't stay like this, she knew. He could pretend that it was a viable way forward, but it wasn't. His followers knew him as a middle-aged wizard, not as a devastatingly handsome boy fresh out of school. Bellatrix watched as he sipped the hot potion, his face twisting with disgust at the taste. Finally he set the mug down and wiped the inside of his wrist over his full lips. He sniffed lightly and said,

"I suppose if… if you ever wanted me young… well, it turns out there are spells and potions for such a thing."

Bellatrix turned up her mouth, knowing the smile didn't reach her eyes. She took Voldemort's face in her hands, and he leaned down as she touched her lips to his forehead and each of his cheekbones. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, and for a long moment, she just stood there cradled against him.

When she pulled away, he was forty-four again. His hair was streaked with a bit of grey and had retreated back a bit. There were fine lines around his eyes and lips. His skin wasn't quite as tight, nor quite as smooth. But he was still marvelously handsome, and he was the man for whom Bellatrix had fallen head over heels. She brushed her thumb under his eye, over the bags that had formed there from stress and fatigue and time.

"There he is," she said, relief filling her voice. "There's my lord and master. My husband."

* * *

**Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary, Knockturn Alley**

**19 March 1971**

"Madam Black. Good afternoon." Mr Mulpepper, the bent and ancient proprietor of Knockturn Alley's potions shop, bowed his head as Bellatrix came ambling into the shop. She was the only one present, but there was no denying Mr Mulpepper knew he ought to show this witch respect. She may have been just a young woman, but by now everyone knew she was the wife of Lord Voldemort. Bellatrix plastered a little smile on her face and set a list down on the wooden countertop.

"Good afternoon, Mr Mulpepper. I'm in need of a few ingredients for my private stores."

"Certainly." Mr Mulpepper pulled out his reading glasses and scrunched up his nose to focus his vision as he picked up the list. "Alihotsy leaf. Nightshade. Newt's spleen. Syrup of Hellebore. Dried leeches. This will only take me a few moments, Madam Black. If you'd care to have a seat whilst you wait?"

Mr Mulpepper gestured to a velvet armchair that was more than a little worn. Bellatrix shrugged and said. "I'll stand, thanks."

"Very well. Just a little bit, then." Mr Mulpepper began moving at a snail's pace, which irritated Bellatrix a little. But his vast stocks of ingredients had everything she needed. He used tweezers, his fingers trembling madly, as he filled a linen sack with dried leeches. He siphoned Syrup of Hellebore into a clear purple bottle. The other ingredients were easily retrieved, and soon enough Mr Mulpepper had a velvet drawstring bag that he was sliding across the countertop to Bellatrix.

"Shall we call it two Galleons?" he suggested, and Bellatrix frowned, for that was an outrageously low price. The Newt's spleen alone was worth that, she knew. She shook her head and started to count out coins from her pocket onto the countertop, but Mr Mulpepper only took two. He insisted, "I couldn't take more, Madam Black. Send the Dark Lord my regards, would you?"

Bellatrix swallowed hard, taking the other coins and the drawstring bag of ingredients. She nodded. "I'll certainly let him know he's got a good friend in Knockturn Alley, Mr Mulpepper."

"Thank you." The old wizard smiled, and Bellatrix left the shop without another word. Out in the narrow street, a few passing people gave her curious looks but quickly averted their eyes. Bellatrix made her way to a quiet corner and Disapparated, coming to just outside the house she shared with Voldemort in St Alban's Grove.

She'd been at her parents' earlier in the day, mourning with them as they grappled with the notion that they'd never speak to Andromeda again. But Andromeda seemed hell bent on marrying the Mudblood Ted Tonks, and she was now of age. It was now nearly four o'clock, but Bellatrix hadn't been home since the early morning. She had no idea whether Voldemort was home or whether he was off working somewhere, so when she pushed the door open, she called,

"I'm home, My Lord!"

She got no response, so she made her way straight to the kitchen and opened the potions cupboard. She started to put the ingredients on the shelves, one at a time, and she startled when a voice behind her said,

"Hello, Bella."

She whirled over her shoulder, grinning at her husband briefly before turning back to the cupboard. She kept sorting and organising as she informed him, "Mr Mulpepper is an ally, I think. He wouldn't take more than two Galleons for all of this. He wants to ingratiate himself to you, no doubt, but -"

"So it's not so very dramatic," Voldemort interrupted her, and Bellatrix turned back around, feeling confused. Then she had to fight to keep her expression steady, and she said quietly,

"You've cast the Surripiotempus Spell on yourself."

She knew because he looked younger again. He wasn't a fresh-faced boy on the verge on manhood, the way he'd been on New Year's Day. He was almost shockingly handsome, looking right about thirty years of age. His face was sharp but unmarred by a single wrinkle. His eyes were a little wider, bright and piercing. His hair was thick and black, combed neatly with a side part. There was no stain of age, nor any folly of youth. He'd put himself at his absolute prime. He was disarmingly good-looking, but also intimidating. It was perfect. Bellatrix backed up against the countertop and asked him,

"Why, Master? Why did you…"

"There is absolutely no reason I need to become a feeble old man," Voldemort said firmly. "I have Horcruxes. I am, for all intents and purposes, immortal. There are spells, potions… ways of keeping one's joints from creaking or one's heart from giving out. Although it seems to me that the spell itself alters the body both inside and out. I needn't be a child, and I needn't be ancient. I can look like this, the sleek man of power, and no one will question my authority for it. Do you not think I can be even more dominant if I appear to be a never-aging, perpetually preserved thirty-year-old man with immense powers?"

"Oh, I think you can, My Lord." Bellatrix couldn't take her eyes from his face. She reached with a shaking hand to press her palm to his shirt. He'd undone the top few buttons, and she noticed the way his chest hair was more sparse, darker. She shut her eyes, feeling suddenly hungry for him, and she asked, "What about me?"

"What about you?" Voldemort snapped, and when she looked up at him, she shrugged.

"Am I to become a crone, an ugly old woman, whilst you stay forever like this, My Lord?"

"No." He shook his head and reminded her, "You've a Horcrux of your own. And I find you remarkably attractive right now at nineteen. I think I'll keep you like this."

Bellatrix felt dizzy. She shook her head a little and frowned. "What will the others think?"

Voldemort smirked. "Well, earlier today I simply showed up at a meeting with Yaxley and Malfoy. They didn't say anything. They noticed, of course; I saw it in their minds. But it's just subtle enough that they didn't say anything. They felt jealousy. Awe."

"I don't think Alastor Moody probably predicted this when he made up that spell," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort sank his teeth into his bottom lip. He brushed his fingertips over her cheekbone and asked her,

"What do you think, then? Does fifteen years make a very big difference?"

She wasn't sure what to say. She did not want, in any way at all, to imply that he'd not been handsome in his forties. However, he was so heartbreakingly good-looking like this that she couldn't keep herself from saying,

"I think that the man before me now is the most handsome person who's ever lived. My Lord."

He leaned down to kiss her, very gently indeed, and Bellatrix hummed against his lips. He turned suddenly, and his little garden snake slithered into the kitchen. It was the one Bellatrix had bought for him months earlier. He'd named it Noha, and it mostly kept to itself except for when he'd sit with it in the evenings and speak gently to it.

" _Esssosamith_ ," Voldemort hissed at the snake, and Noha gave him a curious look. Voldemort tipped his head, sounding a bit like he was scolding the creature as he hissed, " _Viasssameth musssialeh… Esssosamith_."

" _Busssaha. Esssosamith norahalessss…_ " Noha slithered quickly out of the kitchen, and Bellatrix asked quietly,

"What did you tell him?"

"I politely requested privacy," Voldemort said simply. "He listens, most of the time. He'll go wait in the library."

"And what do we need privacy for, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked with a little half smile. Voldemort suddenly hoisted her up by her waist, seeming stronger than usual as he planted her on the butcher block countertop. He snared his arms around her, and as he did, Bellatrix admired his forearms. It was an odd body part to notice, she thought, but with the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up, she couldn't help but take heed. His arms were tighter, leaner, but still sturdy. He'd been thin and wiry as a very young man, and he was more built like this, but the first sagging of age had yet to hit him. Bellatrix dragged her fingers over his left arm, over his dormant pink Dark Mark, and he shuddered a little. He touched his forehead to hers and noted,

"We're only about ten years' difference like this."

"I never minded the age difference, Master," Bellatrix insisted, but he gave her a meaningful look and said,

"Your father's seven years younger than me. Unfortunately, I thought about the age difference a good bit more than I care to admit. Ten years is perfectly reasonable. Enough not to seem… off."

"But it's all an illusion, isn't it?" Bellatrix asked, realising at once that she was arguing with him. He sighed deeply, tucking her curls behind her ear and kissing her lips carefully.

"It's an illusion I intend on maintaining," he whispered, "so you and everyone else can just go right on ahead and get used to it."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said obligingly, and he deepened the kiss.

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**20 March 1971**

"Bella! We need to leave in two minutes!" Voldemort called. He'd been waiting in the parlour for nearly a half hour now, pacing rather anxiously in his neatly-tailored tuxedo. He despised weddings as a general rule, but today he was rather looking forward to attending the marriage of Bellatrix's cousin Eulalie Rosier to Martin Nott. It would be his first opportunity to appear like this, as a handsome thirty-year-old at his physical peak. Every single person in attendance at the wedding would be loyal to him, he knew, and this would be the first time they'd seen him like this. When he'd actually been thirty years of age, he'd been wandering Europe acquiring more skill in the Dark Arts. Only a small group had seen him at that time - the 'school friends' he'd had who had become his very first Death Eaters. But most of his followers had first laid eyes upon him when he'd begun to look world-weary, when the relentless signs of mortality had begun to fall upon him.

This wasn't about vanity, he told himself again. It wasn't about looking pretty. This was about projecting the idea - and his reality - of immortality. Only then could he be truly feared as the powerful wizard he was. He was about to call for Bellatrix again, but she appeared in the doorway of the parlour, and his mouth fell open.

"Too much?" Bellatrix asked at once, and Voldemort just mutely shook his head. She wore a strapless black gown that fit her gently curved form just so, tumbling from her hips with ethereal black folds of silk. She wore her silver serpent necklace and bracelet, and her hair had been magically straightened and pulled up into a high, tight ponytail. Her eyes were lined with thick black kohl, and her lips were a perfect shade of scarlet. She was so beautiful that Voldemort went a little hard in his trousers, and he cleared his throat roughly as he looked away and declared lightly,

"I'm afraid you look entirely too lovely, Madam Black. Someone will try and steal you from me."

"I could certainly say the same for you, My Lord," Bellatrix scoffed gently. "You look… you look…"

"Let's stop all this self-congratulatory nonsense and go to the wedding, shall we?" Voldemort suggested roughly, and Bellatrix gave him a single nod. He approached her and threaded his fingers through hers, Disapparating at once and taking her by Side-Along. They appeared in the garden of an elegant country home - the Rosier estate - and Bellatrix said quietly,

"My mother grew up here."

"I know she did." Voldemort turned to Bellatrix and said, "Perhaps you do not remember; it was about thirteen years ago now. Your mother's family hosted me here for a dinner party upon my return to Britain; they wanted to hear my message out. You were there."

Bellatrix's eyes went wide and she shook her head. "I don't remember, My Lord."

"Yes, well, you were perfectly fearsome, even at age six," he informed her tersely. "You brought me a little beetle you'd found in the Rosier house and you asked me to perform the Cruciatus Curse on it for you."

"I did?" Bellatrix sounded mildly impressed with herself, and Voldemort smirked down at her. He realised then that he probably did look a bit like this at that dinner party all those years ago. Bellatrix squeezed at his sleeve a little and asked, "And did you do it, My Lord? Did you torture the beetle for me?"

"No," Voldemort admitted. "I didn't want to frighten your family. But it did amuse me, just the same, and even then I could tell how beautifully Dark your soul was."

Bellatrix gave a shy little smile. "Shall we go inside, My Lord?"

He led her up the front stairs, and a frightened-looking House-Elf said meekly, "Welcome. The ceremony is in the ballroom to the left."

The Rosier home was an elaborate Rococo creation, a flowery remnant of days long past. The ballroom was no exception. There were two columns of white chairs with an aisle running down the middle, and the late afternoon sunlight streamed in through enormous paned windows. In this light, Bellatrix looked prettier than ever, and Voldemort couldn't help but lock his eyes onto her as she said,

"Hello, Mother."

Voldemort snapped to attention to see that Druella Black and her cousin Cerda, Abraxas' wife, had walked up. Both women seemed to jolt a bit at the sight of the Dark Lord, but neither said anything. Cerda's cheeks went a little pink, and Druella, who was only a few years older than Voldemort now appeared, seemed downright shocked. Druella and Cerda both gave polite curtsies to Voldemort, and then Druella said,

"My Lord, there are seats for you and Bellatrix in the front row."

"Isn't the front row reserved for the close family of the bride and groom?" Bellatrix protested. She turned to Voldemort and suggested, "My Lord, why don't you sit up front and I'll sit with my parents nearer the back?"

"No. Of course not," Voldemort snapped. He turned to Druella and said, "I've no need to sit up front, Madam Black. Indeed, I'd prefer to be in the rear-most row of seats, if you please."

"Naturally, My Lord." Druella gave a curt nod to her cousin, and Cerda dashed off to make the arrangements. Druella smiled a little at Bellatrix and said,

"You look lovely, dear. A bit… bleak… for a wedding, but lovely just the same."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes a little at the very backhanded compliment. She gestured to Druella's overdone purple robes and gushed sarcastically, "You've never looked better yourself, Mother."

"My Lord," Druella said delicately, wringing her hands before her, "You seem as though… as though perhaps you're particularly well-rested. It is good to see you… erm… healthy and strong, My Lord."

Voldemort chomped on his lip to keep from laughing. He gave his mother-in-law (an odd way to think of Druella Black) a conciliatory nod but noted, "I confess I am anything but well-rested these days, Madam Black. I'm only glad I don't look a walking corpse for it."

"Hardly, My Lord." Druella's face flushed crimson, and she glanced over her shoulder. "The ceremony is about to begin; I think I'll go sit down."

"Goodbye, Mummy." Bellatrix wore a gleeful little look, and once her mother had turned to go, she whispered up to Voldemort, "Every witch in this room is staring at you the same way she was doing, you know."

"Let them stare," Voldemort replied. "Let them realise that their master will never wither. Let's go sit down."

The ceremony was perfunctory and seemed quite dull to Voldemort, but he saw various witches dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs just the same. Bellatrix seemed utterly untouched by the emotion around them; she studied the gilded moldings around the painted ceiling instead. He finally slipped his fingers through hers and whispered into her ear,

"Try not to look so very bored, Bella. You'll hurt poor Eulalie's feelings if she sees."

Bellatrix stifled a grin and nodded. As Eulalie and Martin Nott walked down the aisle to raucous applause, Voldemort noticed that both the bride and groom gave him respectful bows of their heads. They were both wide-eyed when they focused on his face, as were the other guests. As the ballroom was rearranged through magic to accommodate tables and a dance floor, Voldemort was very aware of all the eyes on him.

"They're all staring," Bellatrix whispered, for what felt like the tenth time that day. Voldemort tipped his head at her and demanded,

"How do you know they're not staring at you? You look awfully beautiful, you know."

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted. "They're marveling at you. At how handsome you are."

She reached up, seemingly on impulse, for they never made a habit of publicly displaying affection. Her hand wrapped around his jaw, and he covered her fingers with his as he brought them to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and lowered her hand.

"If I could press you against this wall and kiss your lipstick right off you, I would do it," he declared. "But let us look the chaste couple tonight, eh?"

Bellatrix nodded, appearing embarrassed as she mumbled. "I'm sorry, My Lord."

"My Lord. Madam Black."

Voldemort turned at the sound of Rodolphus Lestrange's voice. Rodolphus' eyes flared as he bowed respectfully to Voldemort and said,

"You look very well, Master."

"Younger. I look younger," Voldemort corrected him, and Rodolphus gulped visibly. Voldemort gave no further explanation; he'd decided to let his followers simply marvel at him. Rodolphus flicked his eyes over Bellatrix, his gaze lingering a little too long on the way Bellatrix's dress curled around her breasts and waist. Rodolphus looked a bit queasy as he said,

"Madam Black. How good it is to see you."

"Don't be silly, Dolph; I just saw you in Wales last month," Bellatrix teased him, and Voldemort felt an odd flare of jealousy as Rodolphus smiled. He shrugged and pointed out,

"Battles are rather different from weddings, aren't they?"

"Only a little." Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and then laughed, and Voldemort could not help but glare at her. Rodolphus nodded politely, seeming to sense that his presence was no longer wanted in the conversation.

"Eulalie and Martin are going to dance," he noted. "I'd best watch, or Martin'll never let me hear the end of it. Good evening, Bella. My Lord."

He bowed again and walked off, and the second he was out of earshot, Voldemort hissed,

"Bella? Dolph? Just how familiar are you with that boy?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she seemed genuinely shocked. "My Lord, I was just trying to be friendly."

"Too friendly," Voldemort scolded her. "Much too friendly. You're mine. You're my wife. You shouldn't be… you're not to flirt with men like that, much less in front of me. How dare you humiliate me like that?"

Bellatrix looked as though she were going to cry, and she shook her head as she whispered gently, "My Lord, the last thing I ever want to do is to humiliate you. I apologise with all that I am. I love you. Only you. It could never be any other way."

There was applause then as Eulalie and Martin Nott finished their first dance. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and seized Bellatrix's hand.

"You will dance with me," he said sharply, practically dragging her toward the dance floor. She trotted to keep up with his swift, long strides, but in her high heels she stumbled a bit. Voldemort whirled around to catch her, his right arm circling about her back to pull her upright again. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Bellatrix looked more distraught than ever as she murmured,

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Come." He led her more slowly onto the dance floor, sweeping her up into a neat, tight stance. As they swayed, he could see witches and wizards alike glancing over to him. They were all talking about him; he could feel the buzz of the topic from their minds. He poked into their heads one by one with Legilimency and sensed all manner of reactions. Jealousy from more than one man who wished he had been half as handsome as Voldemort around age thirty. Intimidation from the younger wizards who felt like boys in the presence of their master. Adoration and attraction from nearly all the witches - and, surprisingly, from at least one wizard. Fear. Wonder.

Everything he wanted from them.

But when he met Bellatrix's gaze, she was studying his face carefully. Her ruby lips parted as she danced, and she said quietly,

"I am more sorry than I can say that I offended you with how I spoke to Rodolphus Lestrange. It was impudent and inappropriate of me. I was wrong, and I'm very sorry, Master."

"It's fine," he lied, shaking his head. His body didn't feel radically different like this, not quite as sprightly as it had felt when he'd become the fresh-faced Hogwarts graduate. But dancing was just a little easier, a little more fluid. He suspected that he'd be at his peak in bed with Bellatrix, too, and he meant to find out once they got home. The previous day, they'd just kissed and touched. He wanted to take her, to claim her, to show her just what he was capable of doing to her.

"You fell in love with a man upon whom the scars of time had already begun stamping themselves," he noted softly, and Bellatrix frowned as she shook her head.

"I fell in love with a powerful, charismatic, incredible wizard who just so happened to be forty-two at the time."

He sighed and tipped his head. "Still. Rodolphus is young. I can see why your stomach would flutter around him."

"No, My Lord." Bellatrix shook her head roughly. "No. I feel nothing - physical or emotional - for anyone but you. I loved you when you looked twenty. I loved you when you looked forty-four. And I love you like this."

Voldemort lowered his lips to her ear and murmured, "That dress looks very good on you, but I think it will look even better crumpled on our bedroom floor. I'm going to make you dissolve into a puddle of ecstasy tonight, Bellatrix."

When he pulled back, her eyes had gone wide and her red lips had parted in shock. Her dancing steps faltered, and Voldemort smirked, knowing his face was more attractive than ever to her. He kept on dancing, knowing they were staring at his pretty young wife, knowing they were staring at his handsome sculpted face. Let them stare, he thought to himself. Let them marvel and wonder at their master. Let them stare.

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**21 March 1971**

"Bella."

She cracked her eyes open and groaned softly, feeling Voldemort's hand cup around her breast and squeeze a little. His fingers trailed down her front, over her stomach and onto her dry entrance.

" _Lubrico_ ," she heard him whisper, and Bellatrix realised that he meant to take her again. He'd made love to her in the shower when they'd gotten home from the wedding, then again twice in bed. He'd been alternatingly rough and gentle, and Bellatrix was more than a little sore and worn. She covered his hand with hers and whispered,

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," he insisted, his fingers gliding smoothly over her thanks to his lubrication charm. His voice sounded a little ragged as he huffed a breath behind her and said, "I dreamed of you, and I woke up and needed you. Bella…"

She sighed and pushed his fingers down, signaling to him that he could go on and touch her. His breath was warm against her neck as he pressed his lips there. He tipped her hips back a little and pushed himself into her body. Bellatrix tried not to complain at the way her womanhood ached, but she did chomp on her lip and screw her eyes shut. Her ears rang as Voldemort started to move, to pump himself in and out of her.

"He wanted to marry you," he grunted. "He still does. He wishes you were his."

Bellatrix frowned and looked over her shoulder. "Rodolphus Lestrange? My Lord… please, I beg you to realise that he means nothing to me. I'm your wife. He knows that perfectly well. So do I… Ego Uxorem. It's permanent."

Voldemort's handsome face looked uncertain, even a little embarrassed, and his throat bobbed. He bucked his hips a few times and reached to hold Bellatrix's breast again.

"You're mine," he said through clenched teeth, and Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort quickened his hips, and Bellatrix leaned forward to give him a better angle. She wouldn't finish again, she knew. Her body and mind were exhausted. But she did moan a little at the feel of him entering and leaving her over and over. Finally, his hand shot from her chest to her hip, and he gripped her tightly as he twitched inside of her.

"Pretty little thing," he whispered, and Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm as his seed leaked back out of her. Then, sounding very matter-of-fact, he informed her, "You'll need another dose of Nongravidare Potion soon enough. Wouldn't want you to… you know."

"Become pregnant," Bellatrix spat into the darkness, feeling abruptly irritated for a reason she couldn't quite pin down. Her fingers tightened on the sheets as she sighed, "No. We wouldn't want that, My Lord."

Voldemort huffed angrily as he flopped onto his back, and Bellatrix turned to see him rubbing at his eyes. "You're only nineteen years old, Bella. You've got all the time in the world for that, if it's even something I decide I want from you."

She felt a little flash of indignant horror at the way he'd phrased that. His face softened a little, and he turned to look at her as he amended, "I want my time alone with you, you understand? And it may very well be that the Dark Lord is not meant to be a father. Not ever."

"I understand that just fine, My Lord," Bellatrix promised, and she did. She was his wife, but she was also his soldier. And he could never be a doting father. She knew that. She stroked at the scruff on his jaw and murmured, "My Lord, I shall take the potion tomorrow. I brewed it weeks ago. There's no need for us to speak any more about any of it."

Voldemort shut his eyes and sighed into the darkness. His voice was dark and coarse with sleep as he demanded, "Do you understand what you've done to me?"

"No." Bellatrix studied his face, the sharp lines and the soft skin, and her heart fluttered a little. "What have I done to you, Master?"

He was silent for a moment, his eyes still shut, and then he finally said, "You have made me a victim, Bellatrix."

She was confused by that wording, and she felt more than a little afraid. She was silent as she propped herself up onto one elbow. The clock on the wall beyond Voldemort told her it was two-thirty, and she rather wished they could just go back to sleep. Voldemort rubbed at his eyes a bit, and Bellatrix noted once again how devoid his face was of wrinkles or sagging. He sounded a little angry as he opened his eyes, looked straight at Bellatrix, and informed her,

"Whenever anybody else looks at you, I'm tempted to search their minds and see what they're thinking. Who wishes they could touch you? Who finds you beautiful? I am a slave to my own attraction to you, and you have triggered pangs of jealousy within me that I have never before experienced. I despise that jealousy."

Bellatrix wasn't sure what to say to that. She finally licked her bottom lip and tried, "My Lord, you've nothing to be jealous of. No one to be jealous of. They all need to be jealous of you. After all, you're the most powerful wizard who's ever lived. And if they think you have a pretty wife, what of it? How could any of them even begin to compare to you in my mind? I worship you, My Lord, with every scrap of my being. How could they -"

He cut her off then, very suddenly indeed, by reaching up to snag his fingers in her hair. He yanked her face down to his, and though they both tasted of sleep, she kissed him the way she could tell he wanted. She climbed atop him, knowing they were both beyond spent and not caring. She let him touch her everywhere he could reach. Her breasts, her arms, her backside, her thighs… he rubbed and grasped and squeezed at her, and when she pulled her mouth away, he snarled roughly,

"Mine. My little thing. Nobody else's."

Bellatrix touched her forehead to his and nodded against him. "Yours, My Lord. Nobody else's. Now, please, will you grant me the honour of falling asleep beside me? I am very tired."

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**23 March 1971**

"Good morning, Mr Yaxley," Bellatrix said in greeting. Yaxley gave her a polite bow as he entered the dining room. Bellatrix asked, "How's Ophelia?"

"She's very well," Yaxley smiled. "Five months along now. She's anxious to meet the child. As am I, of course."

"Of course." Bellatrix smiled a little, glad to hear her school friend had found some measure of happiness with her much older husband. Bellatrix passed a friendly letter she'd written to Yaxley and asked, "Will you give Ophelia this for me? And tell her I'm glad to hear she's well."

"Of course I will." Yaxley smiled warmly and tucked the letter into his robes. There was a little buzz of activity in the dining room then as everyone found their seats. This was a regularly-scheduled meeting of Voldemort's innermost circle, and these events were almost always focused on logistics and news. Bellatrix took her seat just beside Voldemort, who would, of course, be seated at the head of the table. Directly opposite her was Abraxas Malfoy, who was entitled to sit near the Dark Lord owing to the fact that he owned this manor.

Everyone went hush and still when Voldemort entered the dining room. They all stood, faces lowered, even Bellatrix. He took his place at the head of the table and said in a quiet voice,

"Sit."

They did, and when Bellatrix returned to her seat, she felt her chair being pulled by an invisible hand nearer the table. She flashed Voldemort a wide-eyed look, and he smirked a little as he pretended the study the wood grain on the table.

"Rabastan Lestrange," he began sharply, and Bellatrix looked up to see that Rabastan and Rodolphus were seated beside each other. For a split second, Rodolphus looked at her, but then he seemed to realise he'd been caught, and he looked away. Rabastan's eyes were trained on Voldemort as he acknowledged,

"Good afternoon, My Lord."

"Rabastan, I hear you've taken a Ministry position alongside your brother," Voldemort said in a clip, and Rabastan nodded.

"Indeed, sir. Rodolphus was able to secure me a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I shall be working as a referee in the British and Irish Quidditch League, My Lord."

"Hmm. Indeed." Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, the more people I have inside the Ministry, the better, no matter the work they're doing."

He seemed to finally take notice then of the way everyone was staring at him, the way everyone was studying his face closely. A satisfied sort of expression came over his face, and he feigned irritation as he said lightly,

"Let us get the elephant in the room out of the way, shall we? You've all noticed I look… how to say it? Less decrepit? Just a bit younger? None of you require specifics; those belong to me alone. Suffice it to say that you can all rest assured your lord and master will not wither and die like a leaf in the autumn. Some things on this Earth as temporary and some are permanent. I should like to consider myself the latter. Questions?"

No one dared raise their hands or voices. A few folded their hands on the table and lowered their faces again. Bellatrix dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, thinking back to the night before, to the way he'd plundered her until she could hardly breathe or move. He flicked his eyes over to her and just stared for a half second, and Bellatrix shrank back a little.

"Avery!" Voldemort barked, and Bellatrix snapped her own attention to the man. His son Tarquin was with him, and Bellatrix's stomach coiled with distaste, as she hadn't seen the young man in a great long while. Voldemort gestured to Tarquin and noted to the elder Avery, "You have brought your son today with my permission. Explain to everyone why that is."

Avery licked his lips nervously and stammered, "W-well, My Lord… Tarquin wishes to become a Death Eater, sir."

"Is that so, Tarquin?" Voldemort asked tightly, and Tarquin Avery nodded fervently, mumbling his assent. Voldemort held up one long finger and beckoned for Tarquin to come. Tarquin rose from his chair and stumbled anxiously as he made his way around the table to stand beside the Dark Lord. The elder Avery looked quite proud, as though he expected his son was about to receive the Dark Mark upon his arm. But Voldemort stood, looking not at all amused as he stared down at Tarquin Avery. The boy was tall and gangly, but Voldemort was just a bit taller, and a good deal more sturdy. Tarquin looked terrified as Voldemort drummed his fingers on the back of his chair and asked,

"It would make you happy, would it? Becoming one of my most devoted servants?"

"Y-yes, My Lord," Tarquin nodded. "It would be an honour beyond measure. It would make me very happy, sir."

Voldemort glanced over his shoulder at Bellatrix, and her stomach sank. He looked back to Tarquin and asked in a prim, emotionless tone, "Would it make you as happy as you felt when you assaulted my wife?"

A ripple of whispers made their way around the table then, but they died when Voldemort held his hand up to silence the group. Tarquin Avery was white as a sheet as he said in a cracked voice,

"My Lord, I still feel terrible about touching Bellatrix without her permission, and I -"

"Madam Black." Voldemort's voice was a lethal, seething hiss then, and Tarquin seemed more afraid than ever as Voldemort clarified, "You may refer to her as 'Madam Black.' And you feel terrible, do you? About sticking your hand up a young witch's skirt when she explicitly told you not to touch her? Why on Earth, boy, would I make you a Death Eater?"

Tarquin Avery said nothing to that. He just shook his head mutely, his pale eyes making their way to Bellatrix with a very apologetic look. She turned her face away, unwilling to look at him as her husband tore him to shreds.

"Why don't you ask Abraxas Malfoy what happens to wizards who are particularly uncouth with the bodies of witches? Abraxas, tell us. Is it pleasant to be on the receiving end of my Cruciatus Curse?"

"No, My Lord." Abraxas tipped his head up, seeming almost proud at the way he'd taken his punishment and had been rehabilitated by the Dark Lord. He looked right at Tarquin and said, "It is not at all pleasant."

" _Legilimens_ ," Voldemort said smoothly, and Tarquin Avery's knees buckled a little as his mind was invaded. Now Bellatrix did watch. She watched the way Tarquin's eyes went wide, the way his mouth fell open, the way he looked as though he was going to be sick. She knew what Voldemort was looking for. He was searching for Tarquin's past and present feelings about Bellatrix herself. Bellatrix knew Voldemort would not like what he saw. There would be memories of dancing with her at the Yule Ball, of kissing her in the abandoned classroom. There could be anything else - fantasies or dreams - and Bellatrix reckoned all of that probably was inside Tarquin Avery's head. She remembered the way Voldemort had spoken ruefully of his own possessive jealousy the night before, and suddenly she was afraid Tarquin Avery would not leave this room alive.

But Voldemort just shook his head, apparently having pulled himself from the boy's mind. Around the table, expressions on faces ranged from shock and terror to morbid curiosity. Voldemort shook his head again and said softly,

"No. No, I don't suppose I will make you a Death Eater. Avery, get your son out of my sight. I do not wish for him to be in my presence again."

"Yes, My Lord." Avery flew from his chair and rushed over to where Tarquin stood, very evidently dizzy from having had his mind searched. Avery began to push Tarquin from the room, mumbling to him that he needed to get out past the Apparition Point and go home. Voldemort sat in his chair again, his eyes finding Bellatrix's once more. His gaze was utterly blank; she could read nothing at all in it. But she didn't need Legilimency to know what he was thinking. His.

"Does anyone else have news of interest?" Voldemort asked in an airy tone. When no one spoke or raised their hands, he shrugged. "Dismissed, then."

* * *

**Hyson Green, Nottingham**

**26 March 1971**

"Well." Voldemort surveyed the corpses of the family they'd killed. "That went well. Clean it up, the lot of you; I don't want a scrap of them remaining. I'll go do a sweep outside."

"Yes, My Lord." Rabastan Lestrange nodded vigorously, and Voldemort left him with his brother and Bellatrix in the family's parlour. They'd come to Nottingham to take out Theo Muxpin, a Mudblood Auror with a blood traitor wife. That Muxpin's Muggle parents had been visiting was something of an accident, but Voldemort felt no grief at all in their deaths. He walked out of the flat and down the corridor, sweeping his wand up from his suit jacket as he cast several quick general anti-memory spells down toward the other flats. This was a council housing project filled to the brim with Muggles. Voldemort reached out for minds, testing whether anyone was suspicious.

An elderly Muggle woman came up the staircase with an armload of groceries. If Voldemort had been a chivalrous man, he might have offered to help the old woman carry the food to her flat. But he was not at all chivalrous, especially toward Muggles, so he just let her go. Satisfied that they'd completed their task surreptitiously, Voldemort headed back toward the Muxpin flat. It was at the end of the corridor, and the nearly-shut door was illuminated by the last orange light of the evening that came through the dirty window. Through the doorway, Voldemort could hear Bellatrix's voice saying quietly,

"You shouldn't call me that. You shouldn't call me Bella."

Confused, Voldemort paused and waited. He shut his eyes and listened more carefully as Rabastan warned his brother,

"You had your chance, Dolph. You need to stay professional now."

"I'm sorry… Madam Black." Rodolphus spat those words like they were poison, and he lamented softly, "The Dark Lord is a very lucky man. Perhaps I should have never gotten my hopes up."

"I would have been happy with you, Rodolphus, but that isn't how things worked out. You'll find a witch who gives you everything you want. I know it."

"Dahlia's and my wedding is next month, Madam Black," Rabastan noted, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "Don't you think perhaps Rodolphus should dance with pretty girls ther?"

"I do think so," Bellatrix said, sounding very kind. Her footsteps were soft and slow, and Voldemort seethed as he realised she was stepping closer to Rodolphus. She sounded entirely too familiar then as she promised, "You'll make someone very happy, Dolph. Don't worry."

"You shouldn't call me Dolph," said Rodolphus, echoing and mocking Bellatrix's words from earlier. Voldemort suddenly thought he would vomit on the rug in the corridor. He'd been more than fine with the killing. Four lives snuffed out like candles and it was nothing to him. But the way his two soldiers and his wife were speaking now…

He flung the door open, feigning a steady look on his face when he saw how close Bellatrix was standing to Rodolphus. Rabastan Lestrange, for his part, looked utterly terrified. He gulped and said in a shaky voice,

"My Lord, we've Vanished all the bodies."

"Yes, I can see that, Lestrange." Voldemort turned his eyes to Bellatrix and said in a snide tone, "Go home, little thing."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix Disapparated without another word, her body whirling into a black blur before she disappeared. Voldemort turned his attention to Rodolphus Lestrange and said in a lethal whisper,

"How easily people fall out of my favour. And then, with a simple green flash, they are gone. Is that what you want for yourself, Rodolphus?"

Rodolphus' eyes welled, and he shook his head vigorously. "No, My Lord. I wish to serve you."

"You will not speak to Bellatrix unless your life depends upon it," Voldemort said simply, sniffing a bit as he adjusted the sleeves of his tailored suit. "In fact, your life depends on you leaving her very much alone. Do not look at her in meetings. Do not wish her a good day. Do not think of her. I will know if you do any of it, and if you do it, I will kill you. Have I made myself clear?"

"Very clear, My Lord." Rodolphus nodded, a frightened tear boiling at his lower eyelid. Voldemort tipped his head and admitted,

"I can certainly understand your disappointment. For years, you were told you'd be married to her. You let yourself focus on her beauty. You let yourself find her funny and intelligent. You let yourself become entranced by the sight of her in battle. But none of that is real for you anymore. She is not real for you anymore. Tell me you understand, or I will eliminate you right here and Vanish your body just like we did to the Mudblood."

"I understand, My Lord," Rodolphus said. He shook his head firmly. "I'll never… I won't dishonour your union with her in any way ever again. I serve you and you alone."

"Good boy," Voldemort nodded. He raised his eyes to Rabastan and said, "I've not yet decided if I shall be in attendance for your marriage. I'll be in touch."

"Of course, My Lord. Whatever pleases you." Rabastan shot a withering look to his elder brother. Voldemort sniffed lightly again and gestured around the flat. There had been a bit of a struggle when they'd come in, so there were broken glasses and a fizzling television set by half-eaten trays of dinner.

"Clean up this mess. I want their police to be very confused."

He Disapparated then, not waiting for a response. When he reappeared in the entryway of the home he shared with Bellatrix, she was pacing nervously in the library. She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to make some sort of excuse, but he cast a nonverbal Silencio, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Voldemort stepped very close to her, lowered his mouth toward his as though he meant to kiss her, and hissed,

"Slut."

Bellatrix gasped, and as his Silencing Charm wore off, a look of anger flashed over her face. She shook her head and insisted,

"I have no idea how else I was meant to handle that situation. He called me Bella; I told him not to."

"Yes. I heard. I was in the corridor," Voldemort said lightly. Bellatrix tipped her head up and shrugged.

"I knew you were. I could feel you." Her chest heaved with shaking breath as she said, "I feel sorry for him. He was a little in love with me, and then he was very suddenly informed that he couldn't have me."

"Well, too bad for him," Voldemort sneered. "He'll find someone else or he'll die."

Bellatrix scoffed. "I'm not normally one to recoil at the idea of killing, My Lord, but… over this? With all due respect, your jealousy is out of control and you are being utterly ridicu -"

"Just who do you think you are?" Voldemort interrupted her. He seized her shoulders and slammed her so hard against the bookcase that she yelped in pain and shock. Her eyes went wide, and he sensed a defiance from her that he'd never felt. Not even when they'd been playing around with Occlumency, for that had all been pretend. This was real. This was Bellatrix seeing a crack in the perfect shell of her master. Voldemort, feeling more angry than ever, shook her shoulders roughly and ignored the way her head knocked back against the books. "Who do you think you are, little girl?"

"I'm your bloody wife!" she finally exclaimed, and Voldemort stepped back at the way something had so palpably snapped inside of her. He was almost afraid of her for a split second, for her eyes gleamed oddly and her lips shook with unmitigated rage. She curled her fingers around the ledge beneath the bookshelves and said in a quiet monotone, "I am your wife. I am your servant, but I am not your slave. I'm not a House-Elf. I am… I am a pretty nineteen-year-old witch, and whilst you may look thirty, you aren't. You're forty-four years of age, and I think you ought to know better than to behave like a petulant little boy who -"

"You need to stop. Right now, Bella, or I will do something terrible and I won't regret it." Voldemort shook where he stood; his wand trembled so fiercely in his hand that he thought he might drop it. Bellatrix stared at him helplessly and shrugged.

"You're the Dark Lord!" she exclaimed desperately. "Why are you doing this? Why are you letting these silly jealousies get in the way of what's important? Rodolphus Lestrange, Tarquin Avery… do they really matter?"

"Of course they matter, you ignorant little child." Voldemort curled up his lip and tried not to shatter the windows. "If they won't respect my marriage, how can I possibly expect them to respect my political authority?"

Bellatrix tipped her head back against the books. "Please just tell me what you want… Master."

"You. For my own, with no one trying to steal you away." Voldemort's voice cracked a little as he said that. Bellatrix lowered her eyes to him, looking dejected as she reminded him,

"I am yours, My Lord. Forever. Anyone else is inconsequential."

Voldemort shut his eyes and felt anger he did not know he possessed. He had half a mind to send Bellatrix crumpling to the floor, to torture her so she'd stop torturing him. He kept his eyes shut and informed her,

"There was never supposed to be anyone else in play. It was meant to just be me, rising to power alone. The fact that I care so very, very much about you, Bellatrix, is… troubling."

"So you've told me," Bellatrix whispered, and when Voldemort opened his eyes, he just wanted to make all of this stop. His head was screaming at her to either kill her or kiss her. He chose the latter. He stepped quickly up to her and crushed her mouth with his, expecting her to kiss him back like she always did. He expected her to snake her arms around his shoulders or to go for the placket of his trousers.

But she kept her lips shut and squealed angrily, pushing at his chest. Voldemort pulled away, breathless and needing release of some kind as his magic crackled in the air around him. Bellatrix shook her head, seeming awfully confused as she spat,

"I don't feel like kissing you right now."

"That doesn't matter," Voldemort said firmly. "I am the Dark Lord. You may be married to me, but you are my servant just the same, and you will remember it. Kiss me, Bellatrix."

"No!" She kept pushing at his chest, but he was stronger. He seized her face in his hands and put his mouth to hers again. Bellatrix growled with anger, and suddenly he felt the tip of her wand against his chest. He was blown back then, as if a bomb had gone off. As he lay on the ground staring up at the ceiling, he realised she'd thrown him off of her with a subtle, nonverbal Knockback Jinx.

His head felt sticky and warm, and as he reached back to touch his scalp, he felt the unmistakable slick of blood. His head had crashed against the ledge around the bookshelves before he'd fallen. Voldemort heaved himself to his feet, shaking and humiliated as he siphoned up his own blood and cast an Episkey to seal up the superficial wound to his scalp. He stared across the library at Bellatrix, who was silently crying where she stood with her wand in her hand.

And then he felt it - something profound he'd not thought himself capable of feeling. It was regret, coupled and mingling with sorrow and love. Bellatrix had been right, he thought. For weeks, he'd become preoccupied with his own looks, unwilling to be ugly and old. Hand in hand with that preoccupation had been his paranoia that someone else would swoop in and take Bellatrix from him. After all, she was beautiful and witty and charming and Dark in all the wrong ways, and he couldn't imagine why anyone wouldn't want her. But he'd been hurting her with all his angry jealousy. He'd wounded her with suspicion. Worst of all, he'd pushed himself on her.

He shut his eyes where he stood and licked his bottom lip as he told Bellatrix, "I shall sleep in the spare bedroom tonight."

"That is not necessary, My Lord," Bellatrix said in a voice that was unexpectedly confident and strong. When he raised his eyes to her, she shrugged. "I would like to wake up next to tomorrow. It's a year, you know… a year since we were married."

"I know." How could he forget? But he was scarcely acting like a proper husband these days. He was afraid to approach her, afraid she'd become enraged again, so he stayed where he was and said, "I am very sorry, Bella. You… you of all people… you deserve much better than what I have given you so far."

"I love you," Bellatrix said simply. "With all that am as your soldier and servant, as your wife… I love you very much."

"I'll earn that someday," Voldemort nodded determinedly. "I swear it. I will earn that."

Bellatrix drummed her fingers on the ledge around the bookshelves. "I would like very much to attend Dahlia's wedding to Rabastan Lestrange. She was a close school friend of mine. And Ophelia will be there, and I'd like to see her. You have my word that my loyalty to you, and your possession of me, will be unquestionably evident. May we please go, My Lord?"

She'd measured her words carefully, because she was intelligent and calculating. Voldemort nodded and curled his lips up in a melancholy smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Yes. Of course we can go. I'm going to go clean myself up." He turned to go from the library, pausing with his hand on the wooden threshold. He never apologised to anyone but Bellatrix, and even she was very rarely on the receiving end of his contrition. But he sighed and turned over his shoulder as he told her again, "I am indeed sorry. Rodolphus is right about one thing… how very lucky is the man who got you make you his bride."

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**27 March 1971**

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open to see that the place beside her in bed was empty. She dragged her fingers over the sheets, glancing at the clock to see that it was seven-thirty. She could smell food - the distinct smell of back bacon and a general savoury aroma that made her stomach curl with hunger. Bellatrix rose from the bed, dragged the blankets up to neaten everything, and made her way to the wardrobe. She pulled out her dark turquoise, knee-length silk kimono robe and tied the belt neatly around her narrow waist. In the bathroom, she cleaned her teeth and pulled a wide comb through her wild curls.

She picked up her wand and trotted down the staircase, wishing with all her heart that she and Lord Voldemort had not quarreled the day before. He'd slept silently beside her, never putting a finger upon her, but something inside of her had ached to snarl her legs with his and to put her ear beside his heartbeat. She hadn't. She'd managed to stay on her side of the bed, facing away from him and pretending to be far more angry than she was. Now she padded down the last stair and down the corridor, and from the dining-room to her left, she heard Voldemort's voice say gently,

"In here."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open when she saw that he'd set the table with fine china and silverware, that he'd poured orange juice into cut-glass tumblers, that he'd brewed tea and cooked food. He stood with his hand on the back of a chair, already handsomely dressed in simple but elegant black robes. His lips twitched a little as he murmured,

"Happy anniversary… my wondrous little thing."

He flicked his wand at his left hand, and the flowers he was holding had a Disillusionment Charm lifted. They seemed to appear out of nowhere… deep purple tulips tied with a black ribbon. Bellatrix swallowed hard and told him,

"You didn't need to do all this, My Lord. To go to all this trouble…"

"Yes, I did." He set the flowers down on the table and pulled the chair before him out a little. "Would you like to eat?"

He was being so very gentle with her, so very kind and downright romantic, and Bellatrix had almost no idea what to make of that. She nodded mutely and walked to the chair. Before she sat, Voldemort caught her jaw in his hand and lowered his lips to hers, kissing her so carefully that Bellatrix moaned a little. He was so incredibly handsome at this age, right at thirty, and his eyes glittered magnetically as he pulled his face back.

"The eggs will be cold," he warned her, and Bellatrix sat and let him push her chair in by hand. She arranged her napkin on her lap and watched as he sat opposite her, and then she took a bite of the scrambled eggs. They were fluffy and light, done perfectly, and Bellatrix made a happy little sound.

"My Lord," she said once she'd swallowed, "I had no idea you were so skilled in the kitchen."

"Yes, well. There are a good many years there where I had to cook for myself or starve," Voldemort said plainly. He solemnly took a few bites of his own food, and Bellatrix eyed the purple tulips beside her as she said,

"I apologise, My Lord, for becoming so angry yesterday."

He looked up from his plate, set his knife and fork down, and shrugged.

"You had every reason to be angry," he said, "and I am, in fact, rather surprised you weren't angrier." He dragged his fingertips over the tablecloth, and his throat bobbed visibly. "You must understand, Bellatrix, what an impossible balancing act it is for me to be married to you."

Bellatrix glanced down at the tulips to her left, then to the dormant Dark Mark on her left arm. She listened as Voldemort continued,

"I demand complete submission from every single one of my followers, even you. It's the only way I can… the only way I can actually be Lord Voldemort. And you have never once complained about being my servant."

"I never would, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him, and he nodded.

"The rest of them are essential as a group and useless as individuals," he said matter-of-factly, drumming his fingers on the table. "But you, Bellatrix… you are very essential as an individual. You make me happy. You make me jealous. You put fear into my heart. I lie awake at night over the idea of losing you. And I love you more than any man has ever loved any woman. Ever."

Bellatrix's mouth dropped open in shock at his candor. He looked abruptly nervous, shrugging with an awkward little smile as he said,

"Your silence tempts me to invade your mind, but I've trained you to keep me out."

Bellatrix shook her head, feeling her eyes burn. If he went into her head right now, she'd just see how deeply she adored him. "I won't keep you out, My Lord."

He took a sip of his orange juice, cleared his throat, and met her eyes. "Legilimens."

Bellatrix staring at Voldemort as he put the Dark Mark upon the flesh of her arm… Voldemort kissing Bellatrix for the very first time at her parents' Christmas party… In the Doxy's Nest, just after he'd taken her virginity, saying, 'This, Bella… it means nothing, you understand? I am your master'... scribbling back and forth in their journals about throwing reekberries, teasing one another with written words…

Sitting across from him in Malfoy Manor and saying, 'I am in love with you, My Lord'... Killing Artemis Pryce, casting the Cruciatus Curse… falling asleep with her head on his chest, night after night, kissing his skin… touching their Marks until they both found completion… his mouth on her womanhood to celebrate her birthday… months without seeing him or hearing from him, her heart shattering into a thousand pieces every time she looked at her empty journal…

'I do adore you. I'm not saying that just because I'm drunk'... his written words, clear and black, 'I do believe I am in love with you, Bella'... the sight of his eyes flashing with rage over a lost battle… standing in the library here in their house as he told her, 'I want you to marry me'... his leg torn to shreds by a Blasting Curse, healing him up and then marrying him… staring up at his dark eyes as they danced…

Voldemort finally pulled out of Bellatrix's mind, and she felt so woozy from the invasion that she held the edge of the table, her food entirely forgotten. Voldemort let out a long, deep sigh, and his voice was very gentle as he asked,

"Will you come here, please?"

Bellatrix rose, her legs shaking from the after-effects of the prolonged and thorough Legilimency. He'd watched everything she had on him, every moment that had seared itself into her being. Now as she approached him, he rose from his chair and immediately caught her face up in his hands. He kissed her, firmly but not insistently, and Bellatrix surrendered entirely to the kiss. He pushed her carefully toward the pale green wallpaper in the dining-room, and when her back hit the wall, he pulled at the hems of her nightgown and robe.

Bellatrix shook her head and whispered apologetically, "I'm bleeding, My Lord."

He just nodded, both of them seeming to experience a little relief at the fact. Bellatrix had worried that she'd waited too long to take the new dose of Nongravidare Potion, for one full year was stretching its efficacy. But she was bleeding, and whilst that may be an inconvenience for their anniversary, it meant she was his and his alone.

He kissed her again, so deeply this time that she felt herself melting straight into him. His thumbs caressed her cheekbones, and he finally pulled away enough to murmur,

"I love you to the marrow of my bones. Do you understand that, Bellatrix? Do you understand that, if I am possessive of you, it is only because I can no longer fathom an existence without you? It's why I had you make a Horcrux. I can not… I will not… be without you now. You understand, don't you?"

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, putting her own hands on his exceedingly handsome face. "I live for you. I always will."

He smiled, more happily this time, and he kissed her forehead. "My magnificent little thing."

* * *

**Greengrass House, Bury St Edmunds**

**9 April 1971**

"Dahlia, you look like positively beautiful," Bellatrix told her friend, and Dahlia really did. Her gown was ethereal, light and wispy as a breath. Dahlia's golden brown hair fell in loose waves about her shoulders, and she wore a crown of woven pink flowers.

"You look like someone dreamed you up," said Ophelia Yaxley, putting a hand protectively over her newly swollen belly. Dahlia covered Ophelia's hand and said kindly,

"You be careful dancing, Ophelia. Don't let Tudor whip you about!"

"Oh, Tudor's very gentle," Ophelia said, waving her hand dismissively. Dahlia glanced over her shoulder to where the girls' husbands stood talking. Lord Voldemort had a glass of wine in his hand, and Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange were deep in discussion with him.

"He seems happy. The Dark Lord." Dahlia flashed Bellatrix a knowing look and asked, "You're not in the same spot as Ophelia, are you?"

"What? No!" Bellatrix scoffed and shook her head wildly, but then she realised there was no reason for anyone to understand. She and Voldemort had discussed at length that their lives had no place for a child - not now, and perhaps not ever. But how could Ophelia, so gleefully puffed up by her own pregnancy, possibly comprehend such thinking? How could Dahlia, who had married with the intent of squeezing out Purebloods like the good Greengrass girl she was, understand? They couldn't. Bellatrix gnawed on her bottom lip and said simply,

"Don't hold your breath for a baby on my end, ladies. He's happy, Dahlia, because the war is going well. That's thanks in large part to your husband. I fight with Rabastan often; he's quick-witted and ruthless."

"Ruthless?" Dahlia frowned and glanced at Rabastan again. She shook her head and grinned. "Oh, I just can't see him being ruthless."

"Well, he is," Bellatrix shrugged. She turned to Ophelia and said matter-of-factly, "Tudor Yaxley's got a very quick Stupefy. Seen him use it dozens of times."

"Bella, why do you like battle so much?" Ophelia rubbed at her pregnant belly and shook her head. "Isn't there something else you'd rather do than… oh, they're all coming straight for us."

The three wizards who had been lost in conversation were now walking straight toward their wives. Bellatrix found Voldemort's eyes, and he smiled a little, looking powerfully attractive in his tuxedo. Bellatrix had put on an emerald green silk concoction of a gown, and she knew she looked passably pretty. But his eyes were hungry as they coursed up and down her body.

"Congratulations, Rabastan," Bellatrix said, and Dahlia's new husband grinned at her as he laced his arm through hers.

"Thank you, Madam Black," he said. He squeezed at Dahlia's hand and suggested, "Dahlia, will you come dance with me?"

"Of course! See you, Bella. Ophelia. Erm… My Lord." Dahlia dashed off with Rabastan, and Bellatrix was left in a quartet with Voldemort and Yaxley and Ophelia. Voldemort glanced awkwardly at Ophelia's belly and then asked her,

"Are you feeling well, Madam Yaxley?"

Ophelia's cheeked coloured pink at having been addressed directly by the fearsome, handsome Dark Lord. She nodded fervently. "I'm feeling very well, My Lord. Thank you. It is my honour to bring another Pureblood child into this world."

"You'll be a very good mother, darling," said Tudor Yaxley in a warm voice. "Will you dance with me? I promise to be very careful."

Ophelia giggled, and she and Yaxley gave respectful nods to Voldemort and Bellatrix before heading off toward the dance floor. Bellatrix smirked at Voldemort after they'd gone, and she said,

"Guess that just leaves you and me, Master."

"And do you want to dance, Bella?" Voldemort asked, sipping at his wine. Bellatrix flicked her eyes over to the dance floor, where her own parents were smiling at one another as they swayed. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa were dancing, and Rodolphus Lestrange had Bellatrix's younger cousin Marya - home from Hogwarts on Easter holidays - wrapped up in his arms. The bride and groom, as well as the Yaxleys, were having a go along with a great many other wedding guests.

"The dance floor seems a bit crowded, My Lord," Bellatrix confessed. She dragged her thumb over the rim of her wine glass and noted, "It's a bit stuffy in here, isn't it? I heard they have beautiful gardens."

Voldemort quirked up half his mouth and extended his arm. "Madam Black, would you be so good as to walk with your husband in the gardens, then?"

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix smiled and let him lead her from the crowded ballroom. Her high heels clicked on the parquet floors in the foyer, and as they made their way out the double back doors, Bellatrix reveled in the refreshing cool night air. She yelped as her heels sank into the damp lawn, and she bent down to pull the shoes off one at a time. She looped the backs over her finger and gave an apologetic look to Voldemort.

"I'll walk barefoot, I suppose," she said, but he took the shoes and pulled out his wand.

"Aufero Spinosis," he incanted, and suddenly the spiky heels on the shoes had vanished and given way to smooth, flat soles. Bellatrix laughed a little and demanded,

"When did you learn how to Transfigure shoes?"

He shrugged. "Shoes aren't the only things that need to have spikes removed, you know."

She didn't really want the details behind that, but she gratefully put the now-flat shoes on her feet and sipped at her wine. They began walking through the little maze of hedges, in which bushes of flowers and little benches had been arranged.

"Noha seemed angry that we were leaving," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort smiled a bit sadly as he seemed to think of his snake.

"He wants to leave, you know," he told Bellatrix. "He's very unhappy being forced to live indoors. He wants to live somewhere with grass and a pond, not a house in London."

"Oh." Bellatrix frowned. "I feel badly that I made him so unhappy in buying him for you. Perhaps you ought to set him free."

"Perhaps." Voldemort shrugged. Then he said, "Noha's strong-willed. If he wants to leave, he'll just go out a window one day and won't come back."

Bellatrix studied Voldemort's face, illuminated only by the floating, mystical-looking lamps that had been set to hover over the gardens. From inside the house, she could hear that the hired strings had struck up a lovely waltz, and she had a sudden need to dance with her husband. She took his wine from him and set the glass, along with her own, on the grass near the hedge. She put her left hand on his shoulder, and he quickly got the idea. His fingers laced through hers and his palm went flat against her back as they began to waltz in the middle of the hedges. For a long while, neither of them said anything. They just moved and held the other, and finally Voldemort's throat bobbed and he said,

"I'm sorry for staring at you, but I find I can't look away. You're much too beautiful, especially out here, like this."

Bellatrix's heart sped up a little, and she shut her eyes for a moment as a dizzy sense of need came over her. Voldemort did not help that one bit when he stopped dancing, took her left hand in his right one, and started stroking at her Dark Mark.

"Mmph… My Lord, no! We mustn't…" Bellatrix found it difficult to stand as he dragged his thumb around the skull and serpent he'd placed on her.

"What mustn't we do, Bella?" he asked, his voice dangerous. "This?"

He brought her Dark Mark to his lips and kissed it, dragging his mouth along the inside of her forearm. Bellatrix moaned aloud, knowing that anyone passing on the other side of the hedge would hear her. But, then, Voldemort would have known they were there. His eyes flashed and his own breath sped up in his nostrils. His left hand cupped Bellatrix's cheek and he moved his lips from her arm to her neck, bending low to accommodate their difference in height. He used his thumb to stroke at her Dark Mark. Bellatrix watched as it flushed crimson, then burgundy, then jet black. She was so wet and achy between her legs that she could hardly stand it, and when she reached on instinct for Voldemort's trousers, she could feel he'd gone completely hard.

"Don't stop," she heard herself whisper, very much against her better judgment. Voldemort pulled his mouth from her neck, his thumb pushing harder on her Mark as he tipped his head back. His face twisted and he grunted a little, and Bellatrix felt a rush of pleasure go through her so strongly that it seemed to be her own. That pushed her over the edge, and suddenly she was relying on her husband's arm to keep her standing as she came right there in the Greengrass' gardens. She caught her breath, staggering backward a little as Voldemort aimed his wand down at his trousers and murmured,

" _Tergeo_. Hmm. That escalated quickly. I apologise."

"No need to be sorry, Master," Bellatrix said honestly. She could hear that the din inside the house was getting a little quieter, and she suggested, "Perhaps you ought to go make your rounds saying goodnight to everyone."

* * *

**Number Six, St Albans Grove, London**

**10 April 1971**

"Oh, for Merlin's Sake." Voldemort rubbed at his forehead, trying desperately to make the pain go away.

"What's the matter?" Bellatrix's voice was soft and bleary in the early morning. She rolled over to face Voldemort as he explained,

"I've a splitting headache for some reason. Just awful; I didn't even drink very much, and… Bella, why on Earth are you looking at me like that?"

She was staring open-mouthed at him, her face locked into an expression of sheer horror. She seemed to be struggling to find her voice, and finally she said,

"P-perhaps you ought to go look in the mirror, Master."

"What?" Now thoroughly irritated, Voldemort heaved himself from the bed, not caring that he wore nothing but underwear. His body was achy, too, and he felt profoundly grumpy as he stepped into the bathroom and used wandless magic to illuminate the sconces.

Then he saw his own reflection in the mirror, and for a moment he just glared. Bellatrix appeared in the threshold, but he paid her no heed. His fist flew forward on impulse, shattering the mirror's glass and instantly sending streams of scarlet blood all over the white porcelain sink.

It had worn off. He was old again.

"I look older than ever," Voldemort snarled, watching his hand bleed into the sink. "The bloody spell didn't just wear off; it added time! I look like a damned fifty-year-old."

Bellatrix was mute with terror in the doorway. "What will you tell them?" she asked. "The… the Death Eaters and everybody else? How will you explain -"

"I'm not going to explain why I look older than ever, Bellatrix," Voldemort growled, still letting his hand bleed. He picked a shard of the mirror from the space between two knuckles, wincing at and relishing the pain. He shut his eyes and declared, "I found an age at which I wish to remain. Young enough to be appealing, old enough to be authoritative. I will not accept anything else. I will make it work. Go fetch me some Dittany."


	2. Book the Second

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

10 April 1971

"Of course Moody made the spell temporary," Voldemort seethed. "Or perhaps he didn't. Perhaps I'm giving him too much credit. Perhaps it's just a weak spell, a poorly constructed spell."

He was pacing anxiously in the library, and Bellatrix sat in a chair with a thick book unfolded on her lap.

"My Lord, it says in here that most ageing potions and spells can have their effects prolonged substantially with daily consumption of pearl dust dissolved in leech juice."

Voldemort crinkled his mouth in disgust, but he shrugged. "I suppose until we have a better solution, that's what will need to happen. We don't have pearl dust; I'd need you to go straight away to Knockturn Alley for it."

"Of course, My Lord," she nodded. Voldemort could see the way her eyes studied his face now, and he didn't need to look into her mind to sense her disappointment. Her husband had always been much older than her, but recently he'd looked like a dashing thirty-year-old. What wasn't to like about that? Now Voldemort looked more haggard and old than ever, as though he were back in his forties with weeks of no sleep or nutrition. He sighed lightly and gave Bellatrix a crisp nod.

"Right. First thing's first… the spell. When I cast it on myself, I had that image of my thirty-year-old self in mind. It seemed important to concentrate on a specific age. I shall try again. Be brutally honest with me about whether the end results are convincing, Bella. I can hardly go before my followers with my looks flying around through time."

"Hardly," Bellatrix agreed. Suddenly Voldemort thought perhaps he'd made a terrible mistake in ever making himself handsome with Moody's spell. It had been foolish, he thought. He'd had no real way of knowing whether the spell would last, or if he'd need to (or be able to) recreate the exact effects. If his followers sensed instability in his appearance, they would extrapolate that and apply it as instability of his leadership. This entire vain endeavour could undermine his authority.

He sighed and aimed his wand at his head, touching the tip to his temple. He shut his eyes and concentrated very hard about what he'd been like in the nineteen fifties. He remembered looking at himself in a hotel mirror in Berlin, straightening his tie and observing the flat planes of his own face. He thought of that time, of those years on the Continent, and he murmured carefully,

" _Surripiotempus_."

He felt a dull vibration on his skull, but nothing approaching the effect he'd felt from Moody or his own first attempt. He scowled as he opened his eyes, and Bellatrix looked mildly afraid as she admitted,

"My Lord, it… it didn't do anything at all."

"For fuck's sake," Voldemort muttered. He rarely uttered such obscenity, but now he was so frustrated that he couldn't help himself. He picked up the silver hand mirror he'd brought down from upstairs and glared at himself in the reflection. His face was just as worn, just as old as ever. He tossed the mirror down on the desk and said sharply to Bellatrix, "You try it. Imagine me the way I looked before."

Bellatrix's eyes went wide. "What if I botch it?"

He gestured wildly to himself. "I can't stay like this, Bellatrix! Not now! You could turn me into a damned snail and it would be better than this! Just try!"

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix rose from her chair and approached Voldemort. She seemed to be studying the lines around his eyes and lips, mentally erasing them as she turned his looks back almost twenty years in her mind. She touched the tip of her wand to his temple and said gently but determinedly,

" _Surripiotempus._ "

This time the spell registered as nothing more than a brief little buzz, and from the disappointment on Bellatrix's face, Voldemort knew it hadn't worked.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, shaking his head and shrugging. "What am I meant to do now? Shall I tell them all I was just playing around? That I was a bit too fond of a curse that Moody used against me? What the blazes am I meant to do now, Bellatrix?"

She shook her head, her eyes glittering helplessly. "I don't know, My Lord," she whispered. Then she pursed her lips and said, "I have an idea."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

"To undo the Surripiotempus Spell, one concocts the Reddotempus Potion. If a spell can have a potion as an antidote, why not a potion to accomplish the same effect as the spell? A Surripiotempus Potion."

Voldemort felt his heart accelerate a little, and he nodded. "The ingredient in the potion you made for me… the ingredient that accelerated time for one's body… it had to be the crocodile heart. To reverse it… to create a potion that mucks with time and the body, but in reverse, you'd need -"

"The lung of a hawk," Bellatrix breathed, blinking quickly. She nodded. "The lung of a hawk is used in everything from beautification potions to metal polish to -"

"To the brand-new Surripiotempus Potion," said Voldemort matter-of-factly. "Bella, I need you to go to Knockturn Alley. Fetch the pearl dust and the hawk's lung. We need to begin brewing this potion immediately; even if it works, we're looking at days of me being crippled by this."

"I shall go at once, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, making a move for the library doorway. Voldemort snatched at her wrist and pulled her back, and Bellatrix's dark eyes flashed with confusion. Voldemort shook his head and whispered rather desperately,

"Tell me it'll all work out. Tell me we'll get it figured and I won't be humiliated or sacrifice everything I've built. Promise me, Bella."

She put her lips into a straight line, squeezed at his hand, and said determinedly, "I promise you, My Lord."

Then she let his hand got and Disapparated, leaving Voldemort to stare at the spot where she'd been.

* * *

**Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary, Knockturn Alley**

**10 April 1971**

"Lung of a hawk. Hmm… I shall need to check my back stores, Madam Black. This isn't a commonly requested ingredient." Mr Mulpepper gazed at Bellatrix over his rickety brass spectacles, and she said apologetically,

"I know it's an unusual request, Mr Mulpepper. I appreciate your assistance. This is an urgent matter."

"Hmm. Of course." Mr Mulpepper hobbled slowly through a swinging wooden door, and Bellatrix anxiously drummed her fingertips on the counter. She already had a cinched leather pouch of pearl dust to make the daily dose of Perpetuating Potion. If she was honest with herself, she had no idea if their new potion would work at all. She really had no idea why the spell seemed to have stopped working on Lord Voldemort. Because of all that uncertainty, she was very worried.

Voldemort, by appearing suddenly rejuvenated and just youthful enough to inspire awe, had instilled newfound fear and submission in his subjects. If he suddenly appeared at Malfoy Manor looking older than he'd ever been, all that fear would shift into suspicion. People would wonder why their lord and master had a shifting appearance. They would speculate. They would talk amongst themselves. Rumours and theories would do nothing to strengthen Lord Voldemort's power. Their faith in him needed to be unequivocal.

It had probably been a terrible, vain mistake for Voldemort to recreate Moody's spell on himself. Bellatrix would never tell him that, of course, but she suspected he knew. For as great a wizard as he was, Voldemort was subject to making mistakes. He was still human. Bellatrix knew that better than anyone else. But he couldn't show the rest of them that he had no control over the spells he cast upon himself. He couldn't show them the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his skin had softened and sagged, the way his hairline had receded and his thick black hair had gone grey and sparse. Beyond the weakness of age, there would be the weakness of instability, and that just wouldn't do.

Bellatrix decided then, standing in Mr Mulpepper's shop, that she would see her master triumphant and aged thirty again if it was the last thing she ever did.

"You're in luck!" said the scraggly voice of Mr Mulpepper. He appeared through the door again, and Bellatrix's heart raced a little as the wizened old man held up a rather large corked glass bottle. Inside was a preserved organ - the lung of a hawk. Mulpepper set the bottle down upon the counter, and Bellatrix nodded gratefully as she pulled out her purse of coins.

"Madam Black, I simply won't accept payment," said Mr Mulpepper. "Please give the Dark Lord my personal regards."

Bellatrix looked from the bag of pearl dust to the bottle with the preserved lung, and she said carefully, "You will be justly rewarded for your loyalty and generosity, Mr Mulpepper."

He curled up his mouth and nodded. "Best be on your way, Madam Black, if this matter is as urgent as you say."

"Yes. Good day, sir." Bellatrix took the bottle and the satchel, and she Disapparated straight from the shop. When she came to in the foyer of the house in London, she could hear the tinkling of metal on metal from the kitchen. Bellatrix walked swiftly through the corridor to see Voldemort, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, standing over a copper cauldron that he had on the countertop. When he turned over his shoulder, Bellatrix was struck by how very aged he looked. Even when she'd first met him, his wrinkles hadn't been quite this deep. The grey in his hair had never been quite this saturated. She sighed and stepped up beside him, putting down the hawk's lung and the satchel of pearl dust.

"I boiled the aconite fluid and the honeywater," Voldemort said primly. "The heat's been reduced. Will you add the doxy egg whilst I get this lung chopped up?"

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix watched as he uncorked the large bottle. He used his wand to levitate the whole lung from the bottle and carefully placed it onto a wooden cutting board. He picked up a silver potions knife and set quickly to work. Bellatrix couldn't help but watch his forearms, the way his muscles were still tight and sinewy as he chopped up the tissue. She huffed a little as she remembered she was meant to be putting a doxy egg into the cauldron. He'd already taken it from the stores, she saw, and as she picked it up, she remembered the way Slughorn had taught the Hogwarts students to carefully puncture the black shell. She let the golden fluid inside drizzle into the cauldron, and she set the empty shell down. The potion fizzled and sparkled for a moment, and Bellatrix said gently,

"Now the lung, then, if we're substituting it in for crocodile heart."

"Stand back," Voldemort commanded her. "I've no idea how the potion will react to it."

Bellatrix took a few steps away from the counter and watched as Voldemort used the back of the knife to scrape the chopped hawk's lung into the cauldron. There was a flurry of sparks and quite a lot of white smoke, but as Voldemort swirled the stirring stick gently, the potion settled. He put his hands on his hips and stared into the cauldron as he said,

"Simmer uncovered for forty-eight hours."

"That's right, My Lord," Bellatrix affirmed. He turned around and shrugged at her, his face more distraught than she was used to seeing it.

"Forty-eight hours in which I can not allow any of my Death Eaters to lay eyes on me. I'd like to keep my mind occupied on something else. How are you at wizard's chess?"

"Terrible," Bellatrix said with a half smile, and Voldemort snorted a little laugh.

"Good. I'll win, then. Let's go play."

* * *

**Number Six, St Albans' Grove, London**

**11 April 1971**

Voldemort rose with the dawn, cleaning his teeth and pulling on a simple black linen tunic and trousers. He left Bellatrix asleep in the bed, flashing her a sorrowful look as he realised just how young she looked in their bed. Her face was so full of promise, of years and years before she even began to show hints of aging. He felt like a dirty old man for the very first time. He felt like he'd plundered and stolen her far before her time. Looking in the mirror and seeing his exaggeratedly aged face did not help that.

He stalked from the bedroom and made his way downstairs to the little sunroom that overlooked the small back garden. A gentle rain was bathing the expansive glass, and as Voldemort sat at the table, he shut his eyes and focused on the gentle patter. His potion was brewing in the kitchen, he knew. Perhaps it would save him. Perhaps not.

"My Lord?"

"Hmm." He didn't open his eyes, nor turn around. When Bellatrix snaked her arms around him from behind, she lowered her lips to his cheek and smelled like the peppermint of her toothpaste. Voldemort sighed a little, reaching up to cover her hand with his. He'd not taken her the night before, feeling entirely too embarrassed by his appearance. Spending so much time looking thirty again had made his newfound oldness even more repugnant.

Bellatrix did not seem to mind it right now. Her hands trailed down his chest, and she whispered carefully,

"I woke wanting you, but you were gone."

"Wanting me," Voldemort scoffed. "Must've had a very nice dream about a younger man."

"No, My Lord." Bellatrix walked around his chair and scooted up onto the stout wooden table. She swung her thin legs a little and seemed almost playful as she confessed,

"I dreamed that you had me tied to a chair. You used your magic to make me come over and over, and I couldn't escape, and you showed me no mercy. And then you touched yourself and finished all over my cheeks and neck."

Voldemort's mouth dropped open. His cock went solid in his trousers at once. He licked his dry lip, found very little relief from that, and finally mumbled to Bellatrix,

"That's some dream, Bella."

"Mm-hmm." Bellatrix's teeth sank into her lip, and suddenly Voldemort was dizzy. He struggled to meet her eyes as he asked,

"Is that… what you want?"

Bellatrix tipped her head and quirked up half her mouth. "My mind cooks up all sorts of wild things, My Lord, but I rarely ask you directly for any of them."

Voldemort was more breathless than ever at that. Perhaps she was flattering him because he looked older now. Perhaps she just was that hot-blooded. It didn't matter, not now. He stood up from his chair and pointed straight at it as he said in a sharp voice,

"Sit down, Bellatrix."

"Yes, My Lord." She sank immediately into the chair, pulling up on the hem of her black silk nightgown enough for him to see that she wore no knickers. It took everything Voldemort had not to simply slam her against the wall and find his release that way. But, no, he thought. Her idea - whether it had been an actual dream was inconsequential - sounded much more fun.

" _Incarcerous_ ," he incanted in a dull tone, aiming his want at one ankle. Her leg was bound to the chair by Conjured ropes, and he repeated the spell again on the other side. He growled rather firmly at her, "Put your hands together on your lap."

She did, and he quickly Conjured more ropes to keep her wrists together. His last length of rope went just below her shoulders and around the back of the chair so that she could not move at all. She was excited by this. He could tell; she was pink-cheeked and open-mouthed as she stared at up him. So she did not find him repulsive like this.

"Vibratio." He flicked his wand between her legs, and he knew she could feel a powerful vibration there. Bellatrix moaned softly, and Voldemort held the spell. He intensified it, pushing his magic forth until Bellatrix wrenched her eyes shut. For a long while, he just stood there, rock solid in his trousers and a bit breathless himself, watching. Bellatrix's head dropped forward, and he watched with delight as her toes curled.

"Mmm… Mmm! It's too much!" she cried. "I'm going to… I can't help it, but I'm going to…"

"Yes," Voldemort whispered, thinking he was on the verge of losing himself. "Come on, pretty little thing. Do it for me."

She let out a wordless plea then, tipping her head back and squirming in the chair. Voldemort could practically feel her climax himself, and he found himself growling at her,

"I do not possess the patience for this game, Bella.  _Emancipare Trio!_ "

All the bindings of rope on her body disappeared into thin air, and Bellatrix stared up at him with wide eyes. He hurried to unfasten the buttons on his trousers as he instructed her,

"Get back on the table."

She did as he commanded, just like she always did. She was so obedient, so devoted, he thought. She'd gone to Knockturn Alley to try and help him fix this mess. She was the only one he could actually trust. He loved her so much that it hurt. As he shoved his trousers down a bit and thrust himself into her body, he put his lips beside her ear and noted,

"You still let me take you, even when you're so young and pretty and I'm… I'm this."

"You're not anything except my lord and master… and my husband." Bellatrix looked straight at him as he bucked his hips into her. The table creaked in protest beneath them, but Voldemort sped up his thrusts, marveling in how tight and warm and wet she was around him. He squeezed at her breast with one hand and kissed her hard, and Bellatrix's arms went up around his shoulders.

"Fill me up. Please," she whispered, and Voldemort was shocked to hear her speak so explicitly. Bellatrix showed no compunction about that as she added, "I need to feel it dripping down my leg afterward. I… I want to know this feels good for you."

"Of course it… does…" Voldemort yanked her hard against him and buried his face against her neck. He kissed her there as he rode his climax, and sure enough, a moment later there was warm fluid trickling down the inside of her leg. The liquid stain of his pleasure had filled her and spilled back out again, and for some reason that mundane thought sent a shiver of delight up Voldemort's spine.

"I love you," he heard Bellatrix whisper, though he was far too wrapped up in the feel of her to step back or let her go. She stroked at his hair - hair that he knew to be littered with silver strands - and she kissed his cheek as she said again, "I love you. I love you whether you look like a boy my age, or a man older than you really are, or a painfully handsome thirty-year-old. Don't you know that it isn't about your face for me? I'm in love with the very core of your being, My Lord."

"Mmm…" Voldemort couldn't find it in himself to say anything coherent. He was thirsty and hungry and abruptly worn out. Finally, he pulled his face away from Bellatrix's neck, tucked her wild curls behind her ear, and told her, "What blissful ignorance it was to live so many years without realising I needed you so badly."

Bellatrix smiled a little and asked, "Shall I make us some breakfast?"

Voldemort smirked back at her and said in a conciliatory tone, "Go take that shower you've wanted since you first woke up. Then we'll think about breakfast."

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**12 April 1971**

"I think you should let me try it first. With all due respect, My Lord." Bellatrix glanced at the cauldron full of steaming, reeking potion, and she read the concern on Voldemort's face. He shook his head.

"I'm not willing to see you become some little child, Bella."

Bellatrix chose her words very carefully then. "My Lord. This is an experimental potion. We don't know if it will… turn the drinker's hair green, or put warts all over your face, or… in any case, My Lord, does it not seem especially unwise for you to be the one to test its efficacy? We have no obvious way of undoing undesirable effects. We don't know - even if works as intended - how much of it is needed to achieve the appearance you presented to your followers. May I please make a more detailed suggestion?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Go ahead."

"I propose, My Lord, that we use a dropper. I shall ingest one drop at a time, wait a while, and see how much of the potion is needed to 'erase' a certain number of years. If it doesn't work right, you don't take it at all. If I do make myself younger, it's not a particularly big burden for me to stay in the house and brew and consume the existing age-restoration potion."

It was a complicated conundrum, she knew. But the very last thing they needed right now was for Lord Voldemort, who had now been absent from his followers for several days, to be standing in his kitchen covered in boils and looking older than ever. This was all a very dangerous game of experimentation, and Bellatrix couldn't let her master be the one to suffer the effects. He seemed sceptical, though, as he pointed out,

"You're only nineteen years old. How are we meant to see what the effects of one or two drops are? I don't recall you looking demonstrably different at seventeen. I'm going to wind up with a toddler crawling around my kitchen."

Bellatrix pursed her lips and felt a little embarrassed as she said simply, "My breasts."

Voldemort's cheeks coloured. "What about them?"

Bellatrix glanced down. "They're not very big, even now, but I was flat as a door until I was fifteen. They sort of… appeared overnight. If I take the potion one drop at a time, and I… lose my breasts… then we'll know I've gone down to fourteen or fifteen."

Voldemort curled his lip up in distaste and shook his head. "I don't like this. Even if it works and you wind up needing to brew an antidote, I shall go spend the next few days at Malfoy Manor."

Bellatrix nodded. She understood. He'd claimed her just after she'd come of age, when she'd been the absolute youngest she could have been without him being a repugnant criminal for wanting her. And now they were married, no matter what their bodies looked like. It had been one thing for his form to resemble hers in age, but it was very much something else for her to become an even younger teenager than she was now.

Bellatrix wordlessly walked over to the potions stores and pulled out a glass dropper and a ceramic mug. She walked back to the cauldron of potion and ladled some of the slick, hot material into the mug. She filled up the dropper and opened her mouth, carefully placing one drop on her tongue. She twisted her face and spluttered at the awful taste.

"Not any more delicious than the potion Moody made up, then, eh?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix just shook her head. She waited for a long moment and then shamelessly fondled her own breasts. They were small and soft, but they were still there. She added another drop of potion to her mouth, and Voldemort warned her,

"Give it plenty of time to work between drops."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix's voice sounded ever so slightly less like a growl to her own ears. There was something slightly more childish about it, as if that voice had not yet been touched by the real world. She shook her head, knowing that the curve in her hips and chest was still there. She took another drop of the unpleasantly hot potion, and after a few moments, she could feel a change. Her hips felt much more narrow in her leggings. Her tunic dropped a bit flat and her thin waist lost its gently curving shape. She was almost certainly a little shorter like this, and her boots felt a bit big on her feet. She touched at her flat chest, raised her face to Voldemort, and saw in his eyes what could only be described as 'unmitigated horror.'

"Did it work?" Bellatrix's voice was unmistakably higher now, and Voldemort visibly winced. He took a step away, as though he felt like a stranger standing much too close to a young girl. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at the cupboard as he said matter-of-factly,

"It's about a year and a half in a drop, then. I look about fifty now, I think. I need to erase somewhere around twenty years. Thirteen drops should do it. Can you step aside, please?"

Bellatrix did as he said, feeling self-conscious and guilty at the way he was avoiding her eyes. He refilled the mug with freshly hot potion, and she asked him,

"Was I so hideous as that just a few years ago, My Lord?"

"Bellatrix, a few hours ago I was pounding you into the sheets with my hands on your naked hips. Now you look like you're just leaving your childhood. How could I possibly look at you right now?"

Bellatrix gulped but nodded. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry."

He said nothing as he filled the dropper and carefully counted thirteen drops of the potion into his mouth. He stood there with his hands on the countertop and waited, and Bellatrix noted,

"At least it doesn't turn your face green or put warts on your skin. I've bottled up sixty doses of the Perpetuating Potion to keep your apparent age where you want it."

"Thank you. You'll need to begin brewing Moody's original Reddotempus Potion at once so that you can get yourself back to looking nineteen. It doesn't do for you to seem this young."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix watched as his face began to morph and shift. His jawline tightened up. His hair thickened and darkened. His skin went smooth and the colour of it was pinker and less splotched. The wrinkles around his eyes, nose, and mouth vanished. The hard lines of his cheekbones and browbone reappeared. When he finally turned to her, he shrugged and asked,

"Well?"

Bellatrix smiled at him. "A perfectly handsome thirty-year-old, My Lord," she said. He nodded crisply and opened the trunk beneath the potions stores. He pulled out a tiny vial, one of the daily doses of Perpetuating Potion, and he tipped it back into his mouth. He sniffed lightly, somehow looking more handsome than ever as he instructed Bellatrix,

"Begin brewing the Reddotempus Potion and administer it to yourself as soon as it's ready. Write to me in the journals when you're back to yourself."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix gulped hard, understanding his unease but still feeling the sting of rejection. She knew better than to ask him for a kiss goodbye; how could he put his lips on a girl who looked fifteen? But then, she wondered, how had he so easily put his lips on a girl that had actually been seventeen? Was there such a difference, really? Perhaps, Bellatrix thought, he felt something about all of that. Perhaps it affected him now more than he'd expected to be the husband of a girl just barely old enough even be a wife.

He rapped his fingers on the threshold of the kitchen and mused, "Brewing up this potion may well have saved my authority, and it was your idea. For that, I am grateful, Bella. I am proud of you. I love you. I'll be back in a few days."

"Goodbye, My Lord," Bellatrix said after him, her eyes burning as he went.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**13 April 1971**

"Enter."

Voldemort signed his name with a flourish at the bottom of a letter to Rabastan Lestrange. He had orders for the brothers to investigate a member of the Order of the Phoenix. He rolled the parchment up and tied a black ribbon around it, figuring he'd send it off later when he had a chance to use the Malfoys' owls.

He looked up to see Abraxas Malfoy himself walking into the office he kept at Malfoy Manor. Abraxas looked profoundly nervous, and Voldemort frowned deeply. He gestured to the chair opposite him and said,

"Sit."

"My Lord, I have information from Yaxley," said Abraxas carefully. "A marriage license was filed with the Ministry. Two seventh-year students at Hogwarts."

Voldemort nodded. He didn't need Abraxas to tell him. "Ted Tonks and Andromeda Black."

"That's right, My Lord." Abraxas handed over copies of paperwork from the Ministry, and Voldemort looked it all over. He shrugged a bit and said,

"My wife and her family have already entirely cut ties with Andromeda," he said, "but if I have reason to believe she's done more than betray her blood, we will not hesitate to kill her… much less the Mudblood." He raised his eyes to Abraxas and tipped his head. "Bellatrix would do it herself if I told her to."

"I'm sure that's very true, My Lord," Abraxas said. He sighed and said, "My son Lucius is in love with Narcissa Black. I've spoken with Cygnus, and we've all agreed that Lucius and Narcissa can marry when they finish school."

Voldemort frowned. "They are… what, fifth-years? Give it time, Abraxas. Two years is a long while in matters such this."

"You're right, of course, My Lord," Abraxas said in a conciliatory voice. "Cerda and I were betrothed to one another very young, and… well, suffice it to say it probably wasn't the best match."

"I've been forced to become interested in your marital life before, Abraxas; I do not wish to do so again. Is there anything else?" Voldemort folded his hands on the table, and Abraxas shook his head, looking mildly embarrassed. Voldemort picked up the scroll from his desk and said in a tight voice, "Use your owl and send this to Rabastan Lestrange."

"Yes, Master." Abraxas Malfoy gave a deep, respectful bow as he accepted the letter, and Voldemort knew he was remembering the way he'd been subject to the Cruciatus Curse. Once Abraxas had gone, Voldemort sighed heavily and opened his desk drawer. He had barely used his Protean-charmed journals over the last year. Ever since Bellatrix had left Hogwarts, their mutual need for long-distance communication had been almost non-existent. He didn't miss being away from her, but there was something distinctly charming about the way her words would appear on his pages, the way they had exchanged cheeky comments and had flirted over the miles.

_Your sister Andromeda has married the Mudblood Ted Tonks,_  Voldemort wrote, shutting his journal and setting it aside a bit. He studied the documentation from the Ministry that Abraxas had given him. Apparently, Albus Dumbledore himself had performed a standard Ministry-approved ceremony for the two seventh-years, in the presence of 'a great many of their friends and Hogwarts professors.'

Of course. Of course Albus Dumbledore would have performed this particular marriage ceremony at the school. If the Mudblood and Andromeda Tonks intended on marrying either way, Dumbledore performing the marriage was a slap in the face to the Pureblood community.

"As if we were not enemies enough, Dumbledore," Voldemort found himself murmuring aloud. He set the Ministry paperwork down when he saw that his journal had flushed black. He picked it up and opened it to see Bellatrix's neat script.

_I'm sorry to hear of such a union, My Lord, but I have no sister called Andromeda._

Voldemort smirked a little. She was so single-mindedly devoted to him, to his cause. He decided not to speak of it anymore to her; she knew everything she needed to know about it now. And, in any case, she was right. Andromeda was no longer a member of the House of Black.

_I trust you understand why it is I had to leave you for a few days,_  Voldemort wrote, and Bellatrix's response came almost immediately.

_Of course I understand, Master. It was more than a bit awkward taking a shower this morning. I'd rather forgotten how quickly things had changed. I miss my breasts._

Voldemort choked a little laugh at that; he couldn't help himself. He wore a wicked smile as he scribbled back,

_Once you've taken the Reddotempus Potion and you have your breasts back, I'll kiss them for you._

Then he shut the journal, feeling odd again. Bellatrix had moved four-and-a-half years back in time, in the physical sense, and the difference was between a woman and a girl. That notion made Voldemort acutely uncomfortable. He'd been troubled by twenty or twenty-five-year swings, but five years for him was inconsequential now. He was so far removed from boyhood that he scarcely remembered what it felt like. He chewed his lip, wondering if he was a cad and a blackguard for snatching up Bellatrix so young. Then he wondered if such labels meant anything at all. After all, he was the Dark Lord, and she was… well, she wasn't like any other human he'd ever met. Their marriage, their existence together, was atypical on nearly every level. What difference did the years make, especially with immortality in play?

His journal had gone black once more, so he picked it up and read Bellatrix's measured script again.

_My Lord, have I made you happy?_

He frowned a little at that, and his throat caught. Had she made him happy? Why was she asking such a thing? Yes, of course she'd made him happy. She made him happy all the damned time. If it hadn't been for her quick thinking, for her wild idea to replace the ineffective spell with a potion, he might have lost everything. There was a very good chance that he would have lost the respect, the fear, the admiration, and the loyalty of his followers if Bellatrix hadn't found a workable solution for his folly.

_Yes, Bella_ , he wrote quickly. _You've made me profoundly happy. You have a remarkable skill when it comes to making me happy._

He waited a long moment, watching as the ink drifted into the pages. He breathed in, the feel of her almost real and palpable through the book and through his Mark. He sighed and wrote,

_I'll see you tomorrow, won't I, Bella? And you'll look like the witch I married, won't you?_

Her writing came back after just a moment.  _I'll always be the witch you married, My Lord. And I shall see you tomorrow._  There was a little pause, just enough time for her words to disappear, and then new ones appeared as she wrote three simple words.  _I love you._

_As I love you, little thing._  Voldemort set his black quill down, fearful of becoming too emotional with her as he was so wont to do. He shut the journal and pushed it aside, deciding that he would pass the time by meeting with Rabastan Lestrange in person. He could wait one more day for his wife to grow up again.

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**14 April 1971**

Bellatrix watched as the harp on the table plucked out a little tune. She'd made the instrument herself, using a combination of constructive magic and Conjuring, and she'd enchanted the thing to play her music. She was rather proud of the accomplishment, if she was honest. Even if it was just a simple little harp with a simple little song, the skill involved in creating it had been substantial.

She sighed and stared out the floor-to-ceiling glass at the sunny garden outside. She'd taken a walk earlier, just after the potion had finished, so she could get some fresh air. Noha the snake had come with her and had been more than a little reluctant to come back inside. She'd let him stay, unable to communicate with him and unwilling to physically force the creature back into the house. Now she was back in the sunroom, just waiting. Lord Voldemort was off with Rabastan Lestrange in Lancashire today, hunting down an address, but he'd said he'd come home as soon as he'd finished.

After a while, Bellatrix heard the door leading from the house to the street open and then gently shut. She flicked her wand at the harp on the wooden table and whispered, " _Silencio._ "

"Bella?"

She stood from her chair and turned around, and she saw Voldemort's eyes instantly train on her chest. She'd deliberately worn a form-fitting black jumper, one that showed the gentle but unmistakable swell of her breasts. Voldemort nodded and raised his eyes to hers. He frowned a little and demanded,

"Are you certain you've aged yourself all the way up? Your face still seems… young."

She smirked and licked her lip carefully. "I am young, My Lord. I'm only nineteen, no matter what."

"You look younger than that." Voldemort seemed a bit agitated where he stood. He huffed and reached into the pocket of his robes, and Bellatrix was very surprised to see him pull out a folded photograph. She realised at once that it was the one she'd given him the day she'd left for her seventh year of school. She'd been seventeen when the photograph had been taken, but as Voldemort stared at it and then raised his eyes to her again, he sighed and seemed satisfied. He tucked the photograph away again and asked, "May I kiss you?"

Bellatrix almost laughed, but managed to control herself. "Of course, Master."

He stepped up to her and put one hand on the small of her back whilst the other went to her cheek. His mouth was warm and sweet against hers, and Bellatrix sighed with happiness. When he pulled away, she asked,

"How did two days feel so very long?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure, but they did, didn't they?"

"At least we got to break out the old journals," Bellatrix teased, but Voldemort's face was stony in the sunlight streaming through the windows as he noted,

"You asked me if you make me happy."

That wasn't quite accurate, of course; Bellatrix had been asking very specifically whether she'd made Voldemort happy by solving his age-presentation conundrum. But she just chewed her lip and insisted,

"It was an innocently-intended question, I assure you."

"It was a stupid question," Voldemort said rather harshly, "because it has such an obvious answer."

Bellatrix was surprised by the sudden meanness in his voice, but he took her face in his hands and kissed her again, hard, and then he said,

"Of course you make me happy. You make me unreasonably happy. You make a fool of me with just how happy I become because of you. You, Bellatrix Black, are the only person who's ever actually made me happy. You are more loved than any human on Earth. I certainly hope you realise that."

Bellatrix's eyes seared at once, and she covered his hands with hers on her cheeks as she shook her head and said, "You ought not say such things to me, My Lord."

"And why not?" he demanded.

"Because," Bellatrix whispered, "you'll make me cry."

"Well, go on and cry, then," he told her. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

Before she could answer, he kissed her again, backing her up against the table. Bellatrix could feel her body coming alive, but she knew they had important things to discuss before they could be whipping one another's clothes off. She managed to turn her face from his and catch her breath. Voldemort seemed particularly hot-blooded, but he took a moment to collect himself and stepped back a bit.

"Did you and Rabastan find that Mudblood woman from the Order?" Bellatrix reached up to tuck a stray lock of Voldemort's hair back as she changed the subject. He shook his head, sending the hair right back onto his forehead. Bellatrix gave up on grooming him as he admitted,

"No, it was a false lead."

"That's too bad," Bellatrix sighed. She turned to the table, to the folded parchment she had there, and she told him, "Last night I received a letter from my sister. She doesn't know the address, but her owl must be very intelligent; it found me just fine."

"It's from Narcissa?" Voldemort asked tightly, and when Bellatrix nodded, he jerked his chin toward the letter and commanded her, "Read it."

Bellatrix cleared her throat as she opened the folded letter and began to read.

" _Dear Bella,_

_I'm sure you've already heard, but Andromeda has married the Mudblood Ted Tonks. Albus Dumbledore performed the egregious 'ceremony' here at Hogwarts, but, naturally, I did not attend. However, our cousin Marya went to observe, and she said that Dumbledore spoke openly against the Dark Lord. Specifically, he told those assembled that he was very happy to see Andromeda 'forging her own path of tolerance' by marrying Tonks. Dumbledore also warned those in attendance about the supposedly nefarious intentions of the Dark Lord - and, apparently, he was so bold as to use his name. He held up Andromeda as an example of how one's blood status or family history 'needn't dictate one's path or life choices.'_

_All of this was corroborated by Lucius Malfoy, who also attended for the purposes of surveillance. I write to inform you of all this because I think you may want to tell the Dark Lord himself. Lucius was too afraid, and Marya's frankly more concerned with earning the affections of Rodolphus Lestrange._

_I am sorry that you and I have lost a sister, Bella, but we have one another. Please be kind to Mother and Father; we are all they have now. I hope you are well. Please convey my regards and loyalty to the Dark Lord._

_All my love,_

Cissy."

* * *

"He's goading me." Voldemort breathed in deeply through his nose and shook his head with disgust. "Albus Dumbledore is taunting me by slandering me to children. Well, if he wants me to be goaded, so be it. I am going to kill him."

"I have no doubt of that, My Lord," Bellatrix said, but Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow and said rather sharply, "Let me be more clear. I'm going to make very concrete plans to kill him, sooner rather than later. I need you to write back to Narcissa; ask her when the next Hogsmeade trip is. How good are you with Human Transfiguration?"

Bellatrix looked surprised, then a little embarrassed. "I am passable, My Lord," she said, "but I never tried particularly hard with those assignments in schools."

"No matter. I can Transfigure your features just fine," Voldemort said, waving his hand dismissively. Dumbledore always goes to Hogsmeade, doesn't he?"

"I believe so, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. "He always sat in the Three Broomsticks with other professors, drinking a butterbeer or two."

"Right. We'll intercept him, either on his way there or back," Voldemort said, starting to pace with his hands behind his back. We'll Imperius him and take him to the Doxy's Nest, where we'll kill him."

"Imperius him?" Bellatrix repeated incredulously. She scoffed and shook her head. "My Lord, I do not mean to argue, but… do you really think Albus Dumbledore would be incapable of resisting an Imperius Curse?"

It was true; with enough willpower and mental strength, one could certainly resist an Imperius Curse. But Voldemort put his lips into a line and said, "There is augmentative power when two people - particularly two people who are bonded in a significant way - cast the same spell upon the same subject at the same time."

"You mean to suggest that if we both Imperiused him at once, that he would be unable to resist it?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort tipped his head, nodding.

"I think so. Killing Albus Dumbledore would be cutting off the lion's head. The little Order members think they're so very fearsome, but without Albus Dumbledore, they are nothing. You're a stronger witch than perhaps you realise, Bella. You and I will practise an augmented, simultaneously-cast Imperius Curse over the next few weeks."

Bellatrix looked a bit nauseated. "My Lord, I've only ever cast a few Imperius Curses. Once was on a Muggle; he didn't stand a chance. I'm not very good at it."

"Well, I suppose step one is to get you stronger with a resisting victim on your own," Voldemort told her, and he was a little amused when Bellatrix frowned and said,

"You mean… you. You want me to cast an Imperius Curse on you?"

Voldemort smirked. "Why not?"

Bellatrix choked out a laugh. "Because you're the most powerful wizard in the world, My Lord! How I could I possibly overwhelm you?"

"I seem to remember you having these same doubts when you were learning Occlumency. But you are, and… Legilimens."

The instant his mind crashed against hers, he was met with a ferocious mental barrier. He was thrust out entirely, and he smiled and he nodded at her.

"See?"

Bellatrix sighed deeply. "I've never actually been Imperiused. Not that I know of, anyway. Is there any value in… you know, seeing it from the other side?"

"Of course there is," Voldemort nodded. He took a half step closer to Bellatrix and leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. She smelled like roses, and he let himself be intoxicated by her for a moment before he suggested, "Why I don't I go ahead and Imperius you, little thing, so you can see just what happens? Then you can have a go at me."

For some strange reason, Bellatrix seemed almost aroused by the notion of falling under her master's full command. She nodded, and Voldemort brought his wand up against her jaw. He focused on her eyes and said very firmly,

" _Imperio_."

A lime green emission, somewhere between light and smoke, washed over Bellatrix's face. Her eyes went a little dull for a few seconds, and Voldemort knew she was his, even more than usual.

"Take your hair down," he commanded her. Bellatrix would have obeyed him under any circumstances, he knew, but 4 br v usually she followed his orders with steely determination, anxious to please him. Now her hands moved mechanically, and her face showed no emotion at all. She untied the black ribbon binding her thick curls into a wide braid. She let the ribbon flutter to the ground, and her fingers unraveled the plait. She shook out her curls a little, making Voldemort go flush with want. He suddenly had a rather wicked idea, and he seized her right hand. He planted it flat against the placket of his trousers, and he instructed her, "Take it out and play with it."

Again, Bellatrix obeyed without question. Her little hands moved deftly to unbutton his trousers and pull out his half-hard cock. But something was terribly off. She liked touching him. He knew that. But she wasn't doing this of her own volition, and his stomach churned as though he was sick.

"Stop." He shoved her hands away, and of course she didn't fight him. She just stared blankly at him, like a lifeless doll, as he shoved his softened cock back into his trousers and buttoned them up with shaking fingers. He shut his eyes for a moment and tried to think of something to make her do. He finally opened his eyes and said firmly, "Go make us tea."

"Yes, My Lord."

Bellatrix turned and started to walk from the sunroom, but the odd smoothness of her movement made Voldemort uneasy. He shook his head and snapped,

"Turn around, Bella!"

She did, her face beautiful but empty. He met her eyes, his voice strained as he flicked his wand and said, " _Finite Incantatem_."

Bellatrix blinked a few times, looking rather dizzy and a tiny bit confused. She found Voldemort's gaze, and he asked her,

"Do you remember it?"

She nodded silently and asked, "It didn't feel right to you to have me touch you like that?"

"No." Voldemort shifted on his feet. "But you would have done anything. You would have taken my cock out and played with it even if you didn't love me. And now you understand the terrible limits - or lack thereof - of the Imperius Curse."

Bellatrix nodded again and said nervously, "I don't think I'm strong enough to do it to you."

"To Imperius me?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. "You'll feel my mind resist, over and over. Keep pushing. Keep trying until you get there."

Bellatrix raised her wand and took a step back toward Voldemort. She licked her lips and her eyes hardened as she said firmly, " _Imperio._ "

The faint green of her spell washed over him, but Voldemort laughed quietly and shook his head. "No," he said in a bored voice. "I don't think so, Madam Black."

Bellatrix looked frustrated. Her wand shook a little in her hand, and she dug her teeth hard into her lip before saying again, " _Imperio!_ "

He shook his head, though it took some effort to do so. Voldemort fought through the urge to let the spell overtake him. Once he'd dissolved it, Bellatrix took another half step toward him and touched the tip of her wand to the hollow in his throat. Voldemort met her eyes, knowing he must be giving her a condescending, amused look. She was not amused in the slightest; she narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a long moment before snarling through clenched teeth,

" _Imperio_."

This time even the great Lord Voldemort couldn't fight her off. He felt like he was floating, just a little, and Bellatrix's words seemed to echo a little in his mind when she spoke.

"Sit down."

A very distant part of his mind wanted to smile at the fact that there had been no My Lord, no Master. Just two sharp words. An order. And he obeyed her, sinking into the chair where she'd been sitting when he'd come into the room. Bellatrix paced before him, her face uncertain, and she mumbled,

"Tell me why you killed Tom Riddle."

"Senior or Junior?" Voldemort asked immediately. Bellatrix looked very confused, so Voldemort clarified, "Tom Riddle, Sr. was my father. I killed him because he was filthy, and because he had abandoned my mother. Tom Riddle, Jr? I didn't kill him; he faded away like smoke in the air. He became Lord Voldemort, and now he is nothing but a sour memory. Does that answer your question, Madam Black?"

"I'm sorry I asked," she whispered, and he felt a crack in her influence over him. He wanted to scream at her not to let her spell falter, but instead he just shook his head and said,

"I beg you for another command, Madam."

Her face went clear, and she seemed to realise what had happened. She aimed her wand at Voldemort and incanted anew, "Imperio."

Suddenly he was hers, wholly and completely, just as surely as she was his. She could have told him to do backflips and he'd have done them. She could have ordered him onto his knees, commanded him to kiss her boots, and he'd have done it. Instead she said in a strangely gentle voice,

"Sing to me."

"What shall I sing?" Voldemort heard himself ask, and Bellatrix shrugged with a shy smile.

"A lullaby?" she suggested. Voldemort felt no emotion at all as he automatically replied,

"I'm afraid I don't know many lullabies. No one ever sang them to me in the orphanage."

"Oh." Bellatrix looked ashamed, and again her spell faltered. Voldemort felt a little surge of autonomy, but then Bellatrix said, "Sing me The Witch in White."

It was a song every witch and wizard knew, for it had been sung in pubs and home and schools for over a hundred years. Voldemort nodded once and stared straight at Bellatrix as he sang,

" _Oh, there once was a witch from old Ipswich, and she made a most beautiful bride. On her wedding day, oh, they like to say that the groom's heart burst with pride. But that very night, still dressed all in white, she slept and did not wake. And her wizard dear shed a thousand tears, and he felt his poor_ heart break _. And her wizard dear, all bereft of cheer, mourned his bride all through the nights. And her wizard dear, for a hundred years, mourned his lovely witch in white._ "

Voldemort stopped singing then, for the song was over and she hadn't told him a new one to sing. Only then did he notice that there were tears streaming silently down Bellatrix's cheeks. He just sat and stared at her, uncertain of what he ought to do next.

"Stand up," Bellatrix commanded him, and he instantly pulled himself from the chair. He towered over her, meeting her eyes and waiting. She dragged the tip of her wand around his chest, but he felt less than he might have expected. He was empty. He was a shell.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," Bellatrix murmured, and then it was as if Voldemort was a drowning man taking a breath. He shut his eyes for a moment, wondering if he'd seemed like a fool, sitting on the chair talking about his father and the orphanage, singing like this sunroom was a cabaret.

"Are you angry?" he heard Bellatrix ask, and he shook his head silently. After a while he opened his eyes and told her,

"You did well."

Bellatrix's lips shook and she seemed nervous as she said, "I'm sorry I asked about… I'm sorry I cornered you into discussing those things."

"It's fine," Voldemort lied quietly. Bellatrix put her palms flat on his chest and whispered,

"Please, will you take me upstairs and make love to me?"

Voldemort nodded. He didn't need an Imperius Curse for that. They both wanted it. And now, after compelling each other back and forth, after days apart because of discomfort, they both needed it. They needed one another's bodies. Voldemort laced his fingers through Bellatrix's and led her from the sunroom, not speaking a word as he made his way through the corridor and up the stairs.

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**14 April 1971**

"Let's play a game."

Bellatrix blinked with surprise at Voldemort's suggestion. She pulled away from where he'd been kissing her beside the bed and frowned.

"A game?" she repeated. "What sort of game?"

Voldemort put his lips into a line. "I need to know what you want."

"I want you, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him, but Voldemort shook his head and said,

"I need specifics."

She knew why he was saying that. He'd felt dirty and wrong putting her hand on his trousers, telling her to play with his cock, when she had lacked the ability to reject him. So she nodded at him and asked,

"What are the rules of the game?"

Voldemort tipped his head. "I take off a piece of clothing, and you tell me one thing you wish I'd do to your body."

Bellatrix laughed quietly and asked, "Does it work in reverse? I take something off and you tell me something you wish I'd do to you?"

Voldemort hesitated. "Fine."

"I'll begin, then." Bellatrix peeled her black jumper up and over her head, tossing it down on the bedroom floor. She dragged her fingers over the black lace of her bra and said, "Tell me, Master."

Voldemort's throat bobbed and he seemed awfully serious as he said, "I wish… sometimes I wish I could take you to somewhere warm. Somewhere near the sea. And I'd make love to you there."

Bellatrix hadn't been expecting that answer at all. Her eyes seared as she reminded him, "We're in a war. No time for holidays."

"I intend to make time," Voldemort informed her. "If they can't function without me for a few days of me going to Spain, well…"

"Spain," Bellatrix repeated, feeling breathless, and Voldemort nodded.

"Andalusia."

Bellatrix looked away from him, suddenly very dizzy. "I thought this game was about sex," she whispered.

"It is," Voldemort said firmly. He peeled off his outer robe, and, as it fell to the ground, he asked, "What do want me to do to you, Bella? And, yes, I'm talking about sex."

Bellatrix chewed her lip and shrugged. "I suppose I might like it if sometimes you took some Girding Potion and… just kept going and going."

Voldemort smirked. "I don't last long enough for you?"

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. "Th-that's not what I mean, My Lord. I'm more than satisfied with -"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Bellatrix. Relax." Voldemort stepped closer to her and pulled on the zip that ran down the side of Bellatrix's skirt. He pushed it down, lowered his lips to Bellatrix's, and whispered against her,

"I'd like to use my mouth on you in the shower."

Bellatrix gasped, completely shocked by the way he was talking. She pulled back a little and just stared at him with wide eyes. Voldemort said nothing more; he just unbuttoned his black tunic and pushed it off his chest. He gave her an expectant look, and Bellatrix shrugged desperately.

"I'm not sure what to say now."

"That's fine." Voldemort unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down with his underwear, their game apparently forgotten. He jerked his chin toward Bellatrix and suggested, "Take your bra and knickers off, will you?"

Bellatrix moved numbly, stripping off her undergarments until she stood there naked. Spain. He'd spoken of taking her to Spain. He'd talked of using his mouth on her. Why was he acting like this, she wondered?

"Are you all right?" she blurted suddenly, perhaps expecting indignation from her master in response. Instead, he just locked his eyes onto hers and said,

"You asked about Tom Riddle. How were you to know there were two of them?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "I'm so sorry I asked; I'm not sure why I did."

"You asked because you feel you only have a partial understanding of the man you married. So allow me to fill in the gaps for you, Bella. My mother used a love potion to convince my father to marry her, to fuck her. The poor sap bolted once I came into existence. My mother was weak. She went to a Muggle orphanage, squeezed me out, and promptly died. I was raised without any understanding of the powers I possessed, which were many and strong, until the day Albus Dumbledore showed up and told me what I was. At Hogwarts, I gathered friends - followers, really - with great ease. Abraxas and Avery and a few others knew me then. They knew me as Tom Riddle. But I had to shed that man, that name, because I could not be powerful with those words saddled to my being. I became Lord Voldemort, and I traveled around learning more skill in the Dark Arts. Yes, I killed my father. I needed to do it. You're a smart girl; you can see why killing is necessary sometimes. So there is no more Tom Riddle. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Bellatrix thought she might pass out, right there in the bedroom. She shut her eyes and felt Voldemort put his hand against the small of her back. His lips were beside her ear as he whispered,

"You married the Dark Lord, not the little boy in an orphanage."

"I know, Master," Bellatrix whispered. She opened her eyes and pulled his face back as she assured him, "I am your servant. I am your wife. And you are the Dark Lord."

"Say it," he hissed. He squeezed at her jaw and nodded. "Say my name."

"Lord Voldemort." Bellatrix nodded and put her hands flat against his chest. "You're Lord Voldemort."

Suddenly he had seized her waist and was shoving her toward the bed. Bellatrix yelped as she was pushed roughly up onto the mattress. Voldemort climbed atop her like a big cat who had found prey. Without a word, he bent and latched his mouth onto her right breast, suckling so hard that Bellatrix immediately cried out in pain. She tried to wrench his face away, for the sting of it was so strong. Voldemort pulled his own face off and was visibly breathless as he reached down and shoved his fingers into Bellatrix. She wrenched her eyes closed and fisted her hands on the blankets. One finger, then another, then a third twisted into her and began roughly shoving their way in and out.

She was hardly wet yet, so it hurt, but she said nothing. She knew why he was being so rough. He'd bared everything to her. Every little detail of the life he'd left behind had been laid forth, mostly against his will. He'd never been this naked in his entire life, she knew. He needed to be the Dark Lord now more than ever. He was her husband, but in this minute he could not be gentle. His mind and his soul could not abide gentleness right now. So Bellatrix lay there with her knees bent, with his fingers shoving themselves into her over and over. She couldn't finish like this, she thought. It didn't feel good, not really. But if she faked a climax, he'd know. She just lay there, trying not to cry, and finally she heard Voldemort demand sarcastically,

"What is it, little thing? Don't you like it?"

She shook her head no and said honestly, "It hurts."

His fingers slowed, and though she could feel she'd become wet, she was grateful for the reprieve. She felt him pull his fingers out of her entirely, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Bellatrix opened her eyes and stared up at where he hovered above her. He was so handsome, she thought again. It was like he was a statue come to life, his features too perfect to be real. He licked his bottom lip and whispered,

"I ought to take Girding Potion and make you pleasure my cock with your mouth until you're crying and sick," Voldemort threatened, and Bellatrix felt a spike of fear go through her. He tucked her hair behind her ear, studying her face, and added, "Or perhaps I'll shove myself into a hole you never wanted to be plundered."

Bellatrix's eyes went wide, and she shook her head quickly as she begged him, "Please, Master. I'll whatever makes you happy, but -"

"No, I won't do any of that," he said, as if he was talking to himself and ignoring her entirely. He sniffed lightly and flicked his eyes from Bellatrix's breasts up to her face. His voice cracked a little as he admitted, "You're my weakness and my strength all at once, aren't you, little thing? I love you too much to do those things to you."

He used his knee to push her thighs open, and Bellatrix was surprised by the easy, slow way he pushed his cock into her body. He began to rock slowly, pushing one arm beneath her back and cradling her against him. Bellatrix pressed her palms to his smooth back and murmured,

"I'm just as afraid of you as the rest of them. I live for you. I worship you. I've been saying all that for years now, and I mean it more today than ever before."

"I know." Voldemort kissed her then, his tongue trailing over the roof of her mouth. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and hummed into her mouth. All the while he pumped slowly against her, his body grinding tightly on hers in just the right way. She began to feel a tightening, the sensation that something was going to snap. After enough of the smooth, slow friction, Bellatrix came. It was subtle and pleasant, and she kissed Voldemort's neck all the way through it. She could hear him whispering rather frantically,

"You're going to help me kill Dumbledore, and then nothing at all will stand in my way. And once he's dead, Bella… I will take you to… to Spain."

He growled quietly then, and Bellatrix could feel the way his body throbbed with satisfaction. She kissed the soft skin of his shoulder and nodded her assent. He was her master, and soon enough, no one at all would dare question him.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**16 April 1971**

"My Lord, last night Dolohov and Nott spent six hours in the dungeons here," Abraxas Malfoy said. Voldemort folded his hands on his lap and gave Malfoy a satisfied smirk.

"And what were they doing for those six hours?" he asked. Malfoy opened his fine leather folio and pulled out a few sheets of parchment.

"Ministry employees, My Lord, who have been overheard by our plants speaking openly against you. Four of them were captured in their homes and brought here. Dolohov and Nott spent hours on them; they're all utterly brainless now. With your permission, Master, they'll be returned to their homes, useless and babbling, so the Ministry can see what happens to detractors."

Voldemort nodded. "That sounds fine to me. The sooner the better. I want the Ministry, Abraxas."

"I understand, My Lord," Abraxas said in a deferential tone. Voldemort sighed and drummed his fingers on his desk.

"Be sure and give Dolohov and Nott my personal thanks. Actually, I'll speak to them myself once they've moved the…"

He paused then, for someone was knocking rather insistently on the door to his office. Abraxas Malfoy whirled over his shoulder, seeming very surprised by how urgent the knocking was. Voldemort pinched his lips, knowing it must be her.

"Come on in, then, Bella," he said firmly, and the door flung open. Bellatrix had a paper clutched in her hand, and she glanced from Malfoy to Voldemort. She looked breathless, like she'd run five miles to come here, and Voldemort frowned deeply. "What's the matter?"

"My Lord, I need to speak with you in private," she said. "It's… it's very important."

"Go, Malfoy," Voldemort snapped. "Have Dolohov and Nott return the detractors. Give them my thanks."

"My Lord." Abraxas rose and bowed deeply to Voldemort. He turned to go from the office, giving Bellatrix a polite nod as he passed her. He shut the door quietly behind him, and Voldemort asked Bellatrix again,

"What's wrong?"

"It's tomorrow." Bellatrix thrust the letter in her hands out and approached his desk. "I've just received this from Narcissa. The next Hogsmeade trip - the final one of the school year - is tomorrow, My Lord."

Voldemort resisted the urge to swear as he read over the brief note Narcissa Black had sent her sister. He sighed through his teeth and shrugged.

"That doesn't give us much time, but we haven't a choice."

He took a piece of parchment from a stack and inked up a quill. He began writing, his script messier than usual.

I require Room Eight tomorrow at dawn. Have the key waiting on the bed; I intend on Apparating straight into the room.

Voldemort folded up the parchment and addressed it to his old goblin ally, Narvox. He handed the letter to Bellatrix and said,

"Take this to the Malfoys' owls. Send it immediately. Then meet me back home. Tomorrow morning at dawn, we're going to Hogsmeade."

* * *

**The Doxy's Nest, Hogsmeade**

**17 April 1971**

"Well?" Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow. Bellatrix looked up from the floor, where she could surely sense her Horcrux waiting for her. Her eyes went wide, and she assured him,

"You look different, My Lord. That's for certain."

He laughed a little and glanced into the tarnished mirror on the wall. His hair was long and grey; there was a jagged faux scar running from his forehead down over the jaw he'd covered in scruff. He was unrecognisable, even to himself. He sighed and turned to Bellatrix, aiming his wand at various parts of her.

" _Flava Comas. Labia Accito. Latanasos. Pinguis._ "

Voldemort watched as Bellatrix's body responded to the Transfiguration spells he cast upon her. He felt mild horror as her curls went blonde, as her lips narrowed into an ugly grimace, as her nose went flat and wide, and as she nearly doubled in apparent weight. Bellatrix gasped and shot him a look of indignation.

"Well, did you have to make me fat?" she cried, and Voldemort suppressed a chuckle.

"You don't look like yourself at all," he assured her. Bellatrix scowled and grumbled,

"I hope I never look like this. Merlin's beard."

"He'll be walking down from the school any minute now," Voldemort noted. They'd been here since dawn, rehearsing their plan so that it would happen like a well-oiled machine in smooth motion. They'd waited as long as they could for the Transfiguration bit, for the last thing Voldemort wanted was for their features to become recognisable again in the middle of the street.

"Remember," Voldemort said sharply, "You'll call him. Professor Dumbledore. Raise your voice up; try and sound like your mother. Smile. When we approach him, watch my fingers. What'll I do?"

"You'll tap your fingers on your robe three times," Bellatrix recited. "Then wands out of our sleeves and we'll immediately cast the Imperius Curse."

"Then what?" asked Voldemort. Bellatrix nodded.

"Count to ten. Do it again. Count to five, then do it again. Count to three, one more curse. If the curse takes, you'll ask him politely for his wand."

"Which I shall keep as a trophy," Voldemort smirked. "You'll then instruct him quietly that we need to show him something. If there's no one watching, we move. We go into the forest. Then what?"

"You kill him, My Lord," Bellatrix said, "and I cast the Dark Mark into the sky. Then we meet at the house."

"Right." Voldemort nodded firmly. "Are you ready?"

Bellatrix's lips curled up a little, and her voice was almost frightening as she whispered, "I've been ready to look upon the corpse of Albus Dumbledore for years, Master."

"My wicked little thing." Voldemort studied her odd features, determined they were sufficiently Transfigured, and nodded once. "Let's go."

They locked Room Eight behind them, and Bellatrix paused for a moment to place her hand flat against the door. Voldemort wrapped his hand around her sleeve, covering her Dark Mark, and he promised her,

"It's safe in there, Bella. You're safe because of it."

She nodded. "Thank you, My Lord."

She followed him down the stairs, and Voldemort wordlessly put the room key on the desk where the goblin Narvox sat reading the newspaper. Narvox didn't even look up; he just covered the key with his clawed hand and slid it over the wood. He hung it on the hook behind him and muttered,

"Have a good day, sir."

"And you," Voldemort said sharply. He pushed open the door to the Doxy's Nest and stepped into the pleasant spring day. This inn was on the edge of Hogsmeade, and Dumbledore would be approaching from the far side near the school. Voldemort wordlessly moved down the main drag, keeping his eyes down and behaving as though he couldn't care less about anyone else in the town. There was already a smattering of students present, and as Voldemort passed them, Bellatrix whispered from beside him,

"You don't think he's already in the pub, do you, My Lord?"

"He always came late. You said so yourself," Voldemort replied. He flicked his eyes to the plump blonde witch beside him and ordered her, "Keep your shields up."

She nodded and returned her gaze to the muddy road. Voldemort's heart began to race in his chest, and he willed it to slow down. If he accomplished his goal today, everything would change. Those who currently defied him would be too afraid to do so anymore. Those who had been on the fence about him would leap to his cause. He would seize the Ministry. He would seize everything.

He would take Bellatrix to Spain.

"There they are, My Lord," Bellatrix hissed, and Voldemort glanced up to see Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore talking to one another as they came down the path from the hill beyond Hogsmeade's borders. Voldemort carefully pushed the tip of his wand from the hidden holster in his robe sleeve, aimed it surreptitiously at McGonagall, and waited until Dumbledore glanced away at a passing gaggle of students.

_Confundo,_  Voldemort thought firmly. McGonagall shivered a little where she stood, but Dumbledore still had not returned his gaze to the witch. Voldemort concentrated as hard as he could to compel McGonagall. She needed to go to Madam Pudifoot's; she'd promised Pomona Sprout that she'd let the Herbology Professor show her some new herbal teas. Voldemort thought it over and over, and finally, he saw McGonagall say something to Dumbledore. The wizard seemed mildly confused, but nodded and gave McGonagall a warm smile. Then he was alone, and Voldemort said in a barely-contained voice,

"Now. Let's go. Right now."

They quickened their pace, and as soon as they were within ten steps of Dumbledore, Bellatrix called,

"Excuse me! Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

Dumbledore turned round, and Voldemort could read the old man's instant scepticism. He did not recognise this pair, but he was instantly on guard. Voldemort rapped on his robe three times, and he saw Bellatrix push her own wand out of her sleeve.

" _Imperio_ ," they both said at the same time. Voldemort pushed the spell forth with all he had. Dumbledore blinked a few times behind his half-moon spectacles and shook his head.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Are you working for him? For Voldemort?"

Voldemort said nothing. In his head, he finished counting. Eight, nine, ten.

" _Imperio,_ " he said again, and Bellatrix's voice matched his. Their spells combined, a cloud of green haze lingering over Dumbledore for much longer than Voldemort was used to seeing. Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, and Voldemort could sense intense resistance from him.

"Again, Bella," Voldemort growled, and they both said more firmly, " _Imperio!_ "

Finally, Dumbledore snapped. Even the will of this obnoxiously powerful wizard could not stand, not when Voldemort himself and Bellatrix's augmentative power had taken over him. Dumbledore looked very peaceful, and Voldemort found himself smirking.

"May I see your wand, please, Professor?"

"Of course." Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out the knobby, thin instrument. Voldemort felt a flush of excitement go through him when he took the wand. Indeed, he found he liked the feel of it so well that he instinctively tucked his yew wand away and wrapped his fingers around the wand Dumbledore had just given him. It was his now. For some reason, that thought was strong and throbbing in Voldemort's mind.

"We'd like to show you something. Come with us," Bellatrix commanded, and Dumbledore nodded. He did not ask where they were going. Bellatrix - in her plump, blonde form - seemed very nervous as she walked with her master and their enemy. The three of them walked briskly off the road and to the edge of the forest. Twigs snapped beneath Voldemort's boots and the leaves on the ground crunched. It all sounded delightful. It sounded perfect.

"So it finally comes to this, Dumbledore," Voldemort said, once they were far enough into the woods that no one from the town could see. He turned around and removed the Transfiguration from his features. He flicked his wand at Bellatrix, and her hair went black again. She was her lovely, lithe little self again. Dumbledore seemed mildly confused as he looked from Bellatrix to Voldemort, and his voice was reedy as he murmured,

"I'd like my wand back, Mr Riddle."

"No, I don't think so," Voldemort said. He aimed his wand at Dumbledore and said firmly, "Imperio."

He was almost shocked then at the power that came from the wand. The Imperius Curse that washed over Dumbledore made Voldemort himself recoil. Dumbledore's pale eyes went completely blank. Voldemort's breath shook as he found himself saying,

"Get down on your knees, old man."

Dumbledore immediately sank to kneel, staring up from the forest floor as Voldemort informed him,

"You were right about me. When I was in school, you tried to warn Dippet. You tried to warn Slughorn. You told them I was very dangerous. You were right. But they didn't listen to you, did they?"

"No, they did not," Dumbledore admitted. Voldemort sighed happily, turning his gaze to Bellatrix. Her chest was heaving with thick, anticipatory breath. She seemed entranced by all this, by the way Voldemort was dominating the wizard they'd both despised for years. Voldemort tipped his head down to Dumbledore and said lightly,

"Let's not drag this out, shall we?  _Avada Kedavra!"_

There was a vibrant flash of jade green light, and then Dumbledore's body toppled over from where he'd been kneeling. His half-moon spectacles fell into the leaves, and his hat crumpled off his head. He looked inelegant in death, like a rag doll tossed into the woods, forgotten by a child. Voldemort stared down at Voldemort's body and sneered,

"And they called him great. They called him great, Bellatrix."

"They were misinformed, My Lord," she said happily. "They didn't know what greatness. They'll know now, now that you've done this."

"Put the Mark into the sky," he instructed her, and he watched as she raised her arm up and said in a rapturous voice, her spell silk in the air,

"Morsmordre."

Glittering green light rocketed from her bent wand, firing upward and erupting like a firework into a skull with a snake in its mouth. It would be rather difficult to see the Mark in the sunny sky, Voldemort knew, but its true effect would come later tonight, once the sun had gone down and there had been hours of shock over Dumbledore's death.

"Bella," he said firmly, taking hold of her hand, "Everything will be different now."

She said nothing. She just smiled, a solitary tear worming its way down her alabaster cheek. Voldemort Disapparated, taking her with him and thinking of the sunroom in their house in London. When they came to, he was delirious with his achievement. He had Bellatrix shoved against the plaster wall before he knew what was happening. He crushed her mouth with his, and she kissed him back as she moaned into his mouth. His fingers rushed to unbutton the placket of his trousers, and he found he was already hard - utterly aroused from killing his most despised enemy.

"Skirt up. Knickers away," he snarled, and Bellatrix obeyed him at once. He lifted her up by her waist and she wrapped her legs tightly around him. He shoved himself into her body, hurtling her against the wall as he grunted like an animal.

"You've done it, My Lord," she breathed into his ear, nearly driving him straight to his completion. She petted his hair and kissed his cheek and said again, "You've done it. You've killed the bastard. You're everything now."

"Bella…" Voldemort slammed his hips into her and groaned desperately as he came. He was dizzy and his ears were ringing as he slipped out of her and let her back down onto her feet. He raked his fingers through his hair and nodded.

"We all have to meet at Malfoy Manor at once," he told her. "Everyone. Get yourself cleaned up."

He peeled back the sleeve of his tunic and touched the shaking tip of the wand he'd taken from Dumbledore to his Dark Mark. He shut his eyes and called them - every last one of the Death Eaters he possessed - willing them to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**17 April 1971**

"My friends." Voldemort came sweeping into the dining room, and Bellatrix walked a step behind him. She tipped her head up, more proud now than ever to be the wife of the Dark Lord himself. He probably wouldn't mention her during this meeting. He wouldn't speak of the way her Imperius Curse had augmented his to help bring Dumbledore to heel. But that didn't matter. This was his moment, not hers. It was his world to rule, and the rest of them were privileged enough if they just got some mud from his boots splashed across their cheeks.

Everyone else in the room had risen to stand, and a few had expectant looks upon their faces. It took everything Bellatrix had not to squeal with delight as she took her seat beside the head of the table. As Voldemort sat, the others did, too, and he folded his hands upon the smooth wood. He took his time dragging his tongue over his bottom lip, and he said quietly,

"Albus Dumbledore is dead."

There were gasps of shock, delighted grins, murmurs, and a few frantic rounds of applause. Bellatrix glanced down the long table to her father, flashing him a happy little smile. Cygnus' mouth had fallen open, and he blinked quickly. Voldemort waited for the tumult to die down, and he told them all,

"Bellatrix and I Transfigured ourselves and intercepted Dumbledore today as he entered Hogsmeade. We Imperiused him and took him into the forest, where I killed him."

Bellatrix stared at Voldemort, her eyes wide. She really and truly had not been expecting him to give her any credit. She hadn't even expected for him to mention that she'd been there. But he'd told the truth, without any elaboration or embellishment or omission. Bellatrix flicked her eyes to her father again, and this time he wore a look of dramatic pride upon his face. Bellatrix's lips curled up. Voldemort spoke again, for the room had gone very quiet indeed.

"As it happens, my friends, the so-called 'Great Albus Dumbledore' was nothing at all in response to a Killing Curse. And when we left him, he was an ungainly corpse on the muddy forest floor."

A few in attendance laughed softly, and more than one looked fearful. Tudor Yaxley and Abraxas Malfoy had their chests puffed with unmistakable pride in their master. The Lestrange brothers looked like they'd just won the Quidditch World Cup. Dolohov and Travers, Nott and Rowle and Rookwood and all the rest… they seemed in awe. They were unable to do anything but stare at their fearsome lord.

"Things will change quickly now," Voldemort told them. "Rookwood. Yaxley. Malfoy. I want the three of you to work immediately on removing Eugenia Jenkins as Minister for Magic. Use force if necessary. Malfoy, you will replace her. Yaxley, I want you as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Rookwood, get yourself and other Death Eaters at the heads of all other departments. You won't face much resistance now. Once the Ministry has properly fallen, we shall begin the real work - enacting the laws we have so longed for."

There was a ripple of excitement around the table, and Voldemort drummed his fingers contentedly upon the table. He flicked his eyes to Travers and asked,

"What is the status of Horace Slughorn?"

"He is fully Imperiused, Master," Travers said. "Avery has him under his control, as of yesterday."

"Right. He's to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Use any means necessary to make it so. Remove Minerva McGonagall from the school. Replace her with… Carrow. Hadley Carrow."

The thin, middle-aged witch down the table nodded gratefully. Voldemort turned his attention to Cygnus Black III, to the man who was his junior in real age but his father-in-law by strict definition.

"Cygnus, the goblins at Gringotts are in collusion with our movement?"

"They are, My Lord," Cygnus nodded. Voldemort sniffed.

"Seize all monetary assets of Mudbloods and dissident half-bloods. That money is ours now."

"I shall move on that immediately, Master," Cygnus assured him. Voldemort took a deep, quivering breath. Bellatrix realised then that he'd been prepared for all this for some time. He'd been ready, waiting to strike. He'd just needed a chance. He'd just needed the opportunity to set his dogs loose.

"I shall be gone for five days," he said crisply. "It is almost certainly better that I am out of the country in the immediate aftermath of Dumbledore's death. Some will celebrate me. Many will vilify me. The important thing is that things move quickly to transition power. We must seize the opportunity of Dumbledore's death. The world will be ours. Any questions?"

There was a pregnant pause in which a few people looked at one another anxiously. Finally, Abraxas Malfoy asked cautiously,

"My Lord… in this extremely monumental time… should we need to reach you, shall we simply use our Marks?"

"Unless it is a very dire emergency, Malfoy, do not attempt to reach me," Voldemort said in a clip. "I shall be back in five days' time. It is up to all of you to show me that you are up to the task of what comes next. Show me there is a reason - a good reason - that I put Dark Marks upon you all. Can I put my faith in you?"

He looked around, and everyone nodded. A few mumbled, Yes, My Lord or Of course, Master. Voldemort pulled himself up from his chair, and everyone stood. He sighed, looked around the table, and tipped his head.

"When I come back," he said, "I want Wizarding Britain ready for me. I've done the difficult bit. I've killed Dumbledore. Now we pick up the pieces and build something better. Bella, come."

She jolted at the sound of her name, scurrying after him as he left the dining room. He seemed to be crackling with energy as he made his way briskly down the long corridor in Malfoy Manor.

"We'll go by Portkey," he said over his shoulder as they fluttered down the stairs and out the front doors of Malfoy Manor. "I'll create it as soon as we go home. You can back our bags. I've got a stash of real Muggle money that can be exchanged when we get there, and -"

"Wait. My Lord." Bellatrix trotted to keep up with him. "Where are we going?"

He stopped, smirking down at her in the sunlight garden.

"Spain, of course," he said. "Andalusia."

* * *

**Hotel Zafiro, Málaga, Spain**

**17 April 1971**

"I killed him just this morning."

Bellatrix turned away from the sweeping view of the Mediterranean, upon which the sun was setting beautifully. Voldemort handed her a large glass of red wine and dragged his thumb around the rim of his own. They'd come to this hotel and he'd Confounded the Muggle front desk worker into giving them a suite under false names. Four nights, they'd be staying. Just a little time away, Voldemort had said. They both needed it, he'd insisted. Now he'd joined her on the red-tiled balcony and stared at his wine as he said again,

"Less than twelve hours ago, I looked him right in the eye and killed him. How does it feel like it happened a year ago?"

"Time is a strange thing, My Lord," Bellatrix said. "Sometimes it flies by mercilessly, and other times it creeps by. It's torture either way, isn't it?"

"None of this feels like torture." Voldemort raised his eyes from his glass, looking almost frighteningly handsome in the golden light of the setting sun. He took a long sip of his wine and sighed. "This feels like triumph."

"It is triumph, Master," Bellatrix insisted. She drank from her own glass; the wine was dry and tasted good when coupled with the salt air in her nostrils. She'd changed into a wispy black dress of crinkled cotton, not much caring that it had fallen entirely off of one shoulder. Voldemort eyed her with a hungry gaze and said,

"It wouldn't have happened without you. None of it. I would not be the Dark Lord ascending if it weren't for you."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm, and she shook her head. "You give me entirely too much credit, My Lord."

"On the contrary. I hadn't given you enough," he said. He set his wine glass down on the little cast iron table, and he took hers to do the same. He threaded his arms around Bellatrix's shoulders, watching the way the sea breeze sent her wild curls flying. His face twisted as if he were in pain, and he marveled aloud, "How can any woman be this beautiful?"

Bellatrix lowered her eyes. "Now you're being ridiculous in flattering me."

He kissed her, taking her by surprise because her gaze had been lowered. He pulled her chin up with one hand and pressed his lips to hers as he murmured,

"It's all going to be mine."

"It already is," Bellatrix insisted. "They won't dare stand in your way now."

"And you're my wife," Voldemort pointed out. Bellatrix wondered what the purpose of mentioning that was. Would she be some sort of princess for him? No. She was his soldier, his servant. He kissed her harder than ever and said again, "You are the wife of the Dark Lord."

"Mmm-hmm," Bellatrix hummed against his lips. Her hair blew into her face as he pulled away. He pushed her curls aside and studied her face for a long moment. The sound of the waves crashing in the distance was mesmerizing coupled with his eyes, Bellatrix thought to herself. She quite liked it here, in Spain, with him.

"I'll be needing you now more than ever," he told her. "I will need your help, Bellatrix. The rest of them are sycophants. Opportunists. They obey me because they fear me, or because they want wealth or power for themselves. But you… you. My precious little thing."

He kissed her again, and Bellatrix found herself instinctively unbuttoning his casual white linen shirt. He let her push it off his shoulders, and when he pulled his mouth from hers, she lost her breath at the sight of his lean, tight muscles. His shoulders, his arms, his chest and stomach… she dragged her fingers all around his torso and let out a little sound of want. He covered her hands with his and brought her knuckles up to his lips. Once he'd kissed them, he said,

"You're the only one I've ever trusted, and that is not going to change. Promise me, Bella, that you will be a voice of reason when I need it. Promise me you'll torture and kill for me simply because it is what I need you to do. Promise me you'll keep looking at me like you're doing right now."

Bellatrix shrugged helplessly. "Like what, My Lord?"

He took her face in his hands, her hair whipping around his fingers as he said quietly, "Like you love me."

"I do love you," Bellatrix assured him. She touched his bare chest again, and then on instinct her fingers drifted to his left forearm. He hissed a little when she grazed her hand over his Mark. She met his eyes and nodded. "I'll be as reasonable as I possibly can. I'll do whatever you command, simply because it is what you need me to do. And I'll never stop looking at you like I love you. Not ever. I promise."

When he kissed her this time, it felt different than any time before. It felt like he was giving himself to her, like part of his very being was transferred through the kiss. Far away the sea churned and crashed, and on the horizon, the sun said its final farewell as a blue peace settled over Málaga. The kiss lasted an hour or thirty seconds; Bella couldn't be certain. At some point Voldemort guided her into the suite, their wine forgotten on the cast iron table outside. Bellatrix couldn't care about the wine right now. She had a triumphant husband to worship.

* * *

**Hotel Zafiro, Málaga, Spain**

**19 April 1971**

One time, when Tom Riddle had been a boy of eight or nine, some well-intentioned Muggle missionaries had visited the orphanage. They'd spoke of a saviour, of prayer, of angels. The Creator's most perfect Beings, His servants and messengers. Beautiful beyond imagination.

Now Lord Voldemort lay in bed and stared at wife, thinking that if ever in the whole long life of the Earth there had existed an angel, it was Bellatrix. Her face was milky blue in the light of the full moon streaming through the open door to the balcony. The gentle wash of the sea onto the shore seemed perfectly synchronised with her easy breathing. Voldemort thought again about how he'd killed Albus Dumbledore, about the way he was about to transform his climb to power into a sprint. He studied Bellatrix's face and knew he would have with it for it all, and his eyes went wet.

"Bella," he heard himself whisper, unsure of exactly why he thought it was a good idea to rouse her. It was two-thirty in the morning and she'd only been asleep for a few hours. At sunset, they'd walked on the beach, her sandals dangling from her fingers as she plodded through the sand in her short little dress. Voldemort felt himself go a bit breathless at the memory, at the thought of how pretty she'd been teasing the waves, running back and forth like a sprite as she laughed.

"Bellatrix," he whispered again, and this time he put his lips to her cheekbone.

"Hmm…" Her eyes blinked open, bleary and hooded with sleep. She frowned and asked in a low hum, "Is something wrong, My Lord?"

He curled up half his mouth. "Usually when I wake you in the middle of the night, there's no crisis. I'm just being rude."

Bellatrix grinned as she stretched a little. She pulled the clean white blankets more tightly around her and murmured, "I'm tired. You should let me sleep."

"I'd rather make you come," Voldemort said plainly, and Bellatrix's eyes went wide. She laughed a little and shook her head as she pushed herself up onto one elbow.

"And how do you intend to do that, My Lord?" she asked him. Voldemort had a sudden idea - no, a sudden need. He reached beneath the blankets and pulled up on the hem of Bellatrix's short silk nightgown.

"I want you to sit on my face."

"I beg your pardon?" Bellatrix looked wholly scandalised, and Voldemort found himself trying to steady his breath as he licked his bottom lip. His cheeks had gone so hot that he thought they might burst into flames. He had no idea why he was suggesting this, why he was being vulgar like this with her.

"I want… to taste you. Whilst you're above me."

Bellatrix's face coloured in the moonlight. For a long moment, there was no sound except the distant pulse of the sea on the shore. Finally Bellatrix nodded and murmured, "All right, then."

Voldemort shuffled himself closer to the centre of the bed and arranged his head on a stack of two pillows. He felt nervous, like a schoolboy with his crush, as he watched Bellatrix slither out of her knickers.

"I'm not sure why I want you like this," he whispered, staring at the ceiling at listening to the waves through the window. His fingers tightened on the sheets and he shook his head. "I'm not sure why I want it."

"Does it matter?" Bellatrix asked gently. She straddled his hips and rubbed her hands carefully around his bare chest. She found his eyes in the moonlight and murmured, "It doesn't matter why you want it; all that matters is that you do. You can have me any way you like, My Lord."

Voldemort swallowed hard, his fingers shaking as they trailed up Bellatrix's thighs. He pulled at her black silk nightgown, and she helped him guide it up and over her head. His hands found her breasts, caressing them as though they were made of something very precious. Perhaps they were. They were very pretty, he thought, just as he always thought when he touched her here. Her breasts were round and soft and small, fitting her body just so and feeling just heavy enough in his hands. Voldemort rolled his hips up a little, going hard in his cotton pyjama trousers.

"When I go home, I'll be like a king to them," he said. "I'll be like a god."

He was using Muggle words, he knew. Words from his past. But they were all he had right now. Bellatrix, despite living her entire life away from kings and gods, seemed to understand just fine. She nodded and told him,

"They'll all kneel before you now."

"All of them except for you." Voldemort sighed as he found her eyes again. Bellatrix's brows furrowed and she shook her head.

"I'll kneel with the rest of them."

Voldemort said nothing for a while then. He just let his fingertips dust over her ribs and waist, settling on her hips as he pulled her gently toward him.

"Will you… move up a bit?" he asked finally, and Bellatrix's eyes flashed. She moved with as much grace as she could muster, but it was still an inelegant process as she arranged herself with a knee on either side of her master's head. He glanced up to see her fingers curl around the painted white bed frame, and he breathed in the scent of her. Musky and primal, the very essence of woman, hovering straight above his face. He didn't know why he wanted this, why it was a need that went straight to the marrow of his bones. But he did want it, badly, and so he took Bellatrix's hips in his hands and brought her down to his mouth.

He groaned the second he tasted her. Metallic and deep, like she'd gone swimming in the ocean and had doused herself in wine. Voldemort ran his tongue in a single long stroke along her entrance, and he heard the wondrous sound of her voice in the quiet room. Her soft moans mingled with the waves outside as he caressed her with his tongue, and he found himself aching and tightening for her almost at once. It was like eating the world's most delicious oyster, and he pulled her harder against his mouth as his tongue and lips quickened and deepened their movements. He finally found a perfect rhythm - lick, lick, suck. Lick, lick, suck. He played with her folds for a while, then sucked hard on her clit until she cried out. Then he did it again and again, making her thighs shake and hearing her voice come in a desperate whine.

He yanked her down tightly against his face until he could hardly breathe, reveling for some reason in the feel of drowning in her. He rubbed at her clit with his nose and thrust his tongue inside of her, not caring as she came that he could hardly find air. She was almost sobbing above him, her voice so loud he thought perhaps the people in the room next door would hear. She clenched around her tongue, around his lips, and he was lost to her entirely. As she lifted herself off of him a bit, he sucked in air and reached down for his own cock. He was harder than he could ever remember being, his cock throbbing and desperate, and it only took a few strokes of his fingers along his shaft and over his tip. He moaned onto the inside of Bellatrix's thigh, feeling his seed land in puddles on his bare stomach.

There was a long while then in which his ears were ringing and he was so spent he thought he might dissolve straight into the bed. At some point, Bellatrix climbed off of him, and he reached clumsily for his wand on the bedside table. The thin new wand he'd taken from Dumbledore felt a little foreign in his hand, but it answered so completely to him that Voldemort knew he could never again use anything else.

" _Tergeo_ ," he muttered, aiming his wand at his stomach. The pools of his creamy seed were siphoned up, and he pointed the wand at his face. He hesitated for a moment, taking one last second to drag his tongue over his lip and taste Bellatrix there. Finally he sniffed lightly and said, " _Scourgify_."

The remnants of what he'd done to her were gone from his mouth then, and after he set his wand back down, he tucked his softening cock away. Bellatrix curled up against him, and Voldemort shut his eyes as he listened to the ocean outside.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he lied.

"I'm rather glad you did," Bellatrix assured him. He thought about thanking her for indulging him, for granting him the leeway to do strange things to her body he'd never known he wanted. Instead he dragged his fingers up her spine, feeling her shiver, and he said,

"You asked if you made me happy. You do, Bella. You make me very, very happy."

* * *

The next morning, Bellatrix stood on the balcony outside, drinking a lavender lemonade and watching the aquamarine waves beat against the shore. She could still hear the shower running inside the suite, and she knew that Voldemort would be ready soon enough. They were going to go explore some of the rock cliffs in the area today, he'd told her. Just for fun.

But then the shower stopped, and there was a strange, heavy silence in the suite.

"Bellatrix!" called his voice, with an urgency that made Bellatrix jolt and drop her lemonade. The glass shattered on the balcony. She didn't care; she rushed inside and into the bathroom. Voldemort stood naked outside the shower, and he said in a tight clip,

"Find something in the room to make a Portkey. For Malfoy Manor. Do it now."

"What's happened, My Lord?" Bellatrix breathed, and he showed her the inside of his wrist. His Dark Mark was seared black. Someone had called him. Bellatrix gasped with horror, knowing that something must have gone terribly wrong if they'd decided to bother him, to summon him back to England.

"I'll go make the Portkey at once, My Lord," Bellatrix said.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**19 April 1971**

"What on Earth has gone wrong?" Voldemort demanded, his voice barely controlled. Bellatrix watched in silence as Abraxas Malfoy's pale cheeks went red. They were standing in a parlour of the manor, for there was too much chaos to call an actual meeting. It was just Malfoy and Yaxley here, and Malfoy sounded embarrassed as he admitted,

"Not much has gone… smoothly, My Lord. Eugenia Jenkins was removed from her office by force, and nearly all the Ministry employees have accepted me as the interim Minister for Magic. Jenkins is locked up here, in the dungeons. But there are two major hold-ups. One, Minerva McGonagall. She has taken over the role of Headmistress at Hogwarts and is, by all accounts, prepared to use the school as a bastion against your cause."

"We'll need to assemble a force as soon as possible to invade the school over the summer holidays and eliminate her," Voldemort sighed, "since apparently Slughorn can't supplant her on his own. We'll replace the entire staff if we need to. What else is there?"

"Well, My Lord… there's this." Abraxas Malfoy produced a copy of the Daily Prophet from inside his robes. Bellatrix peered over as Voldemort read it, and she gasped a little at the headline.

LUNATIC LORD VOLDEMORT MURDERS MUCH-BELOVED ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!

"Lunatic… murder. They've used the word 'murder.'" Voldemort pointed to the word on the page and snarled, "I thought we had the Prophet on our side."

"We thought so, too, My Lord," said Tudor Yaxley. "Our most recent intelligence leads us to believe that Edwin Stirrat, the paper's editor, was working for Dumbledore the entire time."

Voldemort squared his jaw. "And where is Stirrat?"

Yaxley sighed lightly. "We have the Lestrange brothers, Avery, and Dolohov searching, My Lord. Stirrat is not in his house in Scotland; we have not been able to track him down as of yet."

"Burn the offices of the Daily Prophet to the ground," Voldemort said firmly, tossing the newspaper onto the low table before him. "We'll make our own press releases to the public, thank you very much. Bella!"

She jolted, unprepared for the way he'd quickly turned his attention on her. His face was steely as he instructed her,

"Go down to the dungeons and torture Eugenia Jenkins until she's a snivelling lump of flesh. I want her dragged back into the Ministry offices to show them what happens to resistors. Go now, Bella."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix turned from the parlour, and as she went, she could hear Malfoy and Yaxley discussing the exact logistics of what would need to come next. Her stomach twisted with nausea as she realised her husband's plan had hit a roadblock. He deserved better than this, she thought. He deserved their complete and total submission. Why couldn't they just give him that? He had earned himself the world. Why couldn't the world bend for him?

Once she made her way down a few flights of stairs, Bellatrix nodded a brusque greeting to Augustus Rookwood.

"I'm here for Jenkins," Bellatrix clipped. "Dark Lord's orders."

"Have fun with her, Madam Black," Rookwood smirked. He opened the door to the dungeons, and Bellatrix nodded as she padded down the damp stone staircase. It was pitch black down here, probably on purpose. But Bellatrix would need light to work, so she used the last sliver of light from the doorway to locate a lantern on a table, and she illuminated it. Then she could see her - Eugenia Jenkins, chained to the wall like a beast.

"Madam Jenkins," Bellatrix acknowledged, and the witch blinked up from the floor. Bellatrix circled slowly around her. "You were a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, weren't you? Bright, even a little bit shrewd. You socked away my compatriots after the Squibs' marches. You've done a good job, most would say. But some warned that you were incompetent in dealing with the Dark Lord's ascent. Turns out they were right."

"Have you any idea, Madam Black?" began Eugenia Jenkins in a voice hoarse from dehydration. "Have you any notion of the monster you have married?"

"Oh, yes. I know him very well, thank you," Bellatrix nodded. "And, anyway, look at the Antipodean Opaleye. A dragon. A beast. A monster, hmm? And yet, so very beautiful. You're the one who has no idea.  _Crucio!_ "

The red web of Bellatrix's spell knotted quickly around the middle-aged witch, sending her careening against a stone post as she shrieked and moaned. Bellatrix held the spell, feeling more alive than ever in its scarlet glow.

"Please!" cried Jenkins. "Please stop! I can't take it! Aargh! Please stop!"

Mercy, Bellatrix thought. First they cry for mercy.

"Please! I have a family!" Jenkins screamed, and Bellatrix broke her spell as she let out a low giggle.

"Ah, yes. Your family. Your husband, Langdon. He's a Mudblood, isn't he?"

Jenkins raised her face from the ground, still looking far too defiant for Bellatrix's liking. "Langdon is a Muggle-born, and there's no shame in that."

"Oh, yes, there is." Bellatrix stomped over behind Jenkins and put her wand between her teeth. Before Jenkins could react, Bellatrix had torn at the top of her formal black robes. She ripped and tore and then shoved Jenkins to the ground, pulling her wand out of her teeth and aiming it at the former Minister's exposed back.

" _Diffindo,_ " she snarled, and she used her wand to carve letters one at a time into Eugenia Jenkins' skin. T-R-A-I-T-O-R.

By the time Bellatrix had finished, Jenkins was huddled in a heap, crying softly, with streams of ruby blood trickling down her back. Bellatrix wasn't finished.

"Crucio!" she cried again, and this time the spell took hold so ferociously that Bellatrix felt dizzy and weak. The feeling passed, and she remembered the way her master had told her that would happen the very first time she'd done this. He'd told her to push through the fatigue, so that was what she did now. Eugenia Jenkins shrieked and cried, convulsing and shaking on the floor. Eventually the shaking stopped, and then even the twitching stopped, but still Jenkins screamed. By then, Bellatrix was queasy and so weak she could hardly stand. She took a deep breath and strengthened the curse, and then Jenkins went silent. Bellatrix held the Cruciatus for another few minutes through the silence. At last, she snapped her wand up and the throbbing red light disappeared.

She stepped closer to Jenkins to see that the middle-aged witch's hair had gone utterly white, each strand looking as fragile as glass. Bellatrix rolled her over onto her stomach to examine the word Traitor on her back; it was crusting up nicely. She rolled Jenkins to lie on her back, and the former Minister stared up at the ceiling with glassy eyes red from crying and blank with insanity.

"Madam Jenkins?" prompted Bellatrix quietly, but the other woman just rolled her face to the side and smiled a little.

"Tell my sister," she whispered, "that it's all right if her kitten brings dandelions to Mummy. Nobody will mind."

"No, of course they won't," Bellatrix said. She sniffed and stepped away from Jenkins, knocking the lantern onto the floor with a deliberate swipe of her wand. It shattered and its light was snuffed out, cloaking the dungeons in darkness as Bellatrix climbed the stairs.

* * *

"I want you to notify me the instant we have more information on Edwin Stirrat," Voldemort instructed Malfoy and Yaxley. "I will kill him myself. Before the Prophet's headquarters are burned out, single out the ones who seem like they could be loyal. I'll interrogate them; we may use them for our own press later on."

"Yes, My Lord," said Yaxley, and then he flicked his eyes to the parlour's doorway and lowered his face. Voldemort turned to see Bellatrix standing there, her face white as chalk and sheened with sweat. Her lips, visibly dry and cracked, shook a little where she stood.

"You look like hell," Voldemort noted. "I take it that means you're finished with Jenkins."

Bellatrix nodded and sounded thirsty as she said, "Her mind's melted, My Lord."

Voldemort smirked and turned to Yaxley and Malfoy. "She is so very skilled at this, my wife. She is so very talented at destroying people. Go to the Malfoys' Potions stores, Bella, and get yourself some Invigoration Draught. I've a few things to sort out, and I'll be along."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix turned to go, and Voldemort felt an odd tug in his chest compelling him to go with her. Instead he spent the next three hours discussing logistics. He needed evidence from every department of the Ministry that its employees would obey his rule. Anyone who would not sign an oath of loyalty was to be taken prisoner. Research would need to be done on getting ahold of Minerva McGonagall. Yaxley pointed out that his wife Ophelia had a portrait in her family's home, one that was paired with a portrait at Hogwarts. Voldemort instructed Yaxley to look further into the matter, to see whether the portraits could be used to his advantage. There were still Aurors who were firmly against them. They would need to be eliminated. The Order of the Phoenix in its entirety would need to be tracked down and killed.

"Malfoy," Voldemort said after hours of discussion, "Tomorrow I want Eugenia Jenkins on the floor of the Ministry atrium. Place a Burning Hex around her so that if anyone tries to reach her, they suffer the consequences. We need to send strong messages. Now."

He turned his attention to Yaxley. "Bring me employees from the Ministry and the Prophet so that I can determine their potential loyalty. I'll kill the useless ones. Before we can begin implementing our actual agenda, gentlemen, we need to stabilise our command. I want a meeting here, tomorrow at eight o'clock. Everyone. Send the word out."

"Yes, My Lord," Abraxas Malfoy said. Then he paused and said carefully, "As always, you are more than welcome to your suite here if you think -"

"Yes. That makes plenty of sense. Thank you." Voldemort nodded, realising he still had a wardrobe full of clean clothes here. He pressed his wand to his left hand and thought of Bellatrix. Within a few moments, she'd appeared again in the doorway. She looked more alive now, after a few hours of the Invigoration Draught sinking in. Voldemort said crisply to her, "Go home and pack yourself a trunk. Bring it here and have the House-Elf put it in our suite. We're staying here until this mess is sorted out."

Bellatrix nodded and left again, and Voldemort sighed deeply. He was more frustrated than he could articulate, even to himself. The Ministry seemed to be partially in favour of him, but what good did that do when the press was goading on the Order of the Phoenix? And McGonagall… she would need to be swiftly eliminated, along with other sympathisers like Sprout and Flitwick. The brainless oaf Hagrid would need to go, and quickly. The entire Prewett family, resisting Potters and Weasleys… they would all have to go. There would need to be a purge.

Voldemort raised his new wand and aimed it at the window, intent on shattering the glass. But then he lowered the instrument and sighed, turning to Malfoy and saying,

"Your generosity and loyalty will not be soon forgotten… Minister. Nor will yours, Yaxley."

He strode quickly from the room, still feeling lingering nausea and headache from coming so far by a hastily-made Portkey. He could lie down for an hour, he figured. He'd earned that much.

In the suite where he and Bellatrix had lived for a summer together, he found her waiting, pacing anxiously. He shut the door behind him and she immediately flung her arms up and around his shoulders.

"It'll be fine, won't it?" she whispered, and Voldemort put his lips into a line as he planted his palms flat upon her back.

"Yes," he promised her, though of course he wasn't so sure. He pulled back a bit and reminded her, "You destroyed Eugenia Jenkins. You'll do the same for me with countless others. You'll destroy my enemies whilst the others help me build my new world."

Bellatrix nodded. "I will destroy your enemies. Every last one you give me."

Voldemort kissed her forehead. "Are you as queasy as I am from that Portkey?"

"I made it badly; I'm sorry," she muttered. "Yes, I feel ill. I couldn't figure if it was from the Portkey or the Cruciatus Curse."

"Both, probably." Voldemort walked into the bedroom and stripped off his outer robe. He kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed, feeling utterly drained. Bellatrix crawled up beside him, nestling up against him, and he asked her,

"Did she put up a fight?"

"She called you a monster," Bellatrix said, looking up at him with a little smile. "As if that were some sort of insult. I carved Traitor into her back, and by the time I was done with her, she had white hair and was babbling about someone bringing her mother dandelions."

"Vicious little thing," Voldemort smirked. He stared at her for a long moment, feeling more in love with her then than he'd ever felt. Perhaps he'd thought he knew what it was to love her. But until now, it had just been the faintest pulse of love. He'd not realised that, not until now when the walls were caving in on him and he was surrounded by chaos. Everything was uncertain except for her. Everything was a risk except for Bellatrix.

He bent to kiss her, somehow winding up lying side-by-side with her on the bed. Perhaps on a different day, he might have thought of sex just now, curled up with her like this on a bed they'd shared so many times. Right now, though, all he could do was stare at her and know that if he had nothing else in all the world, at the very least, he would have Bellatrix.

She reached to put her hand on his jaw, and she nodded solemnly. "I will destroy your enemies."

He kissed her again, suddenly more confident that the world would bend its knee to him.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**25 April 1971**

"A BREATH OF FRESH AIR FOR WIZARDING BRITAIN. Well. That's much better, isn't it?" Lord Voldemort set down the newspaper and glanced around the dining-room table, his gaze settling on Tudor Yaxley. "How did you manage it?"

Yaxley tipped his face up a bit proudly. "Once we caught Edwin Stirrat, My Lord, the associate editor of the Prophet proved to be quite amenable indeed. Rhona Lewis. We didn't even have to burn the place down."

A little rumble of laughter made its way around the table. Voldemort slid the copy of the newspaper beside him to Bellatrix and said,

"Read aloud for the class, Bella."

Bellatrix picked up the Daily Prophet and cleared her throat. She raised her eyes to those assembled and began to read. " _To the untrained eye, these may look like bleak and chaotic times, but that's only if you're not paying attention. The reality is that Lord Vo…"_

She stopped then, unsure of whether she ought to read his name aloud. She turned to him with a questioning gaze, and he nodded silently. Bellatrix took a shaking breath and started up again.

" _The reality is that Lord Voldemort has initiated great change that will ultimately bring about great peace and prosperity for all wizardkind. Once we slaved under the yoke of bureaucracy, bound by arbitrary rules, our powers contained for the alleged protection of Muggles. But Lord Voldemort seeks to bind all of wizarding Britain together, our hands clasped in unity as we look forward as one to the coming dawn. The Daily Prophet sincerely_ apologises _for previous writings disparaging Lord Voldemort, and we are proud to declare our unyielding support for his mission and leadership._ "

Bellatrix set the newspaper down and watched as Voldemort smirked. Around the table, there was a sort of pulsing joy, the sensation that things had finally swung their way. Avery and Dolohov and all the others seemed quite pleased with themselves. Rodolphus Lestrange caught Bellatrix's eyes for a half second and then quickly looked away, and his brother Rabastan was staring at the Dark Lord in wonder.

"Cygnus," Voldemort said smoothly to Bellatrix's father, "What is the financial situation?"

"Eight hundred and ninety-two thousand Galleons seized, My Lord," Cygnus Black said proudly. A little murmur of glee went about the table, and Voldemort nodded.

"Two thousand to each Death Eater seated here today. You've earned your prizes."

"Thank you, My Lord," breathed Rabastan Lestrange. "That is most generous."

"Your service is appreciated," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. He rapped his fingers on the table then and said, "In the past five days, Bellatrix and I have interrogated, tortured, or eliminated a total of seventeen enemies. Aurors, Ministry employees, members of the Order of the Phoenix. The destruction of these enemies has not gone unnoticed. I am told that every department of the Ministry now yields entirely to me. That only leaves one stronghold of resistance."

"Hogwarts," murmured Bellatrix, and Voldemort nodded.

"Yes. Hogwarts. Now… I know that many of you have children currently in school. Rest assured that no battle or conflict will occur on school grounds whilst the students are in session."

The parents around the table, including Bellatrix's own father and Abraxas Malfoy, seemed to breathe enormous sighs of relief. Voldemort hardened his gaze and continued,

"Avery, Nott, Dolohov and the Lestranges will join Bellatrix and myself in invading Hogwarts over the summer holidays. We will go in the dead of night using a secret passage that leads from Honeydukes into the third-floor corridor of the castle. Once inside, we will confront Minerva McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and any others who need… persuasion. But your children are safe through the end of term."

Everyone nodded their assent and gratitude, and Voldemort shrugged.

"Anything else?"

Bellatrix hesitated for a half-second, then tentatively raised her hand a bit. Her husband gave her an odd look and finally raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, Madam Black?"

"I… I wanted to inform those who are capturing our prisoners… it is much easier to interrogate them if they're not already gravely injured. They can't concentrate enough to divulge information when they've lost a limb or have their intestines hanging out. So, if you could please try not to mutilate the ones we intend on interrogating. Thank you."

Voldemort looked very amused. He glanced around the table and said, "Well, you heard the lady. No lopping off limbs… unless you have direct orders for it. Bring them to us clean. If there's nothing else, you're dismissed."

He rose from his chair then, and everyone else followed suit, standing at attention as he left the room. Once he'd gone, little conversations broke out among the assembled Death Eaters. Bellatrix started to go, to follow Voldemort, but a throat cleared behind her and she turned around to see Tudor Yaxley.

"Madam Black, Ophelia wanted me to give you this," he said, holding out a folded letter. Bellatrix's lips turned up a little, and she asked,

"How's she doing?"

Yaxley painted a mischievous grin onto his face and said, "Why don't you read the letter and find out for yourself?"

Bellatrix tapped the edge of the letter, feeling very intrigued. She broke open the wax seal and read,

_Dear Bella (am I still allowed to call you that?),_

_I know Tudor's bursting at the seams to tell everyone himself, but I wanted to be the one to tell you… I'm expecting twins! The Healer came a few days ago for an exam, and he sensed two heartbeats! Two! No wonder I'm so enormous! At least now I don't feel as_ badly _about eating every bit of chocolate in sight. In any case, it won't be long now until they're in my arms. And I couldn't be happier that they'll be born into a world with the Dark Lord at the helm. I do hope you can spare some time to visit soon. Hope you're well and staying safe through all this._

_Ophelia_

Bellatrix felt her eyes water a little as she folded the letter up. She raised her gaze to Tudor Yaxley, who was grinning like a fool, and she marveled, "Twins. Twins, Tudor. Merlin's beard. You must be very pleased."

"We're ecstatic, My Lady," Yaxley said. "Between all the good news these last few days on the war front and… and finding out about the babies. It's almost too much to bear."

Bellatrix suddenly realised why Voldemort wasn't including Yaxley in the invasion of Hogwarts that summer. He'd be a bit busy. Bellatrix tucked the letter into her robes and said,

"Tell Ophelia I'm going to send her more chocolate than she can imagine."

Yaxley laughed a little. "She'll appreciate that, My Lady. A very good day to you."

"And to you." Bellatrix frowned then as Yaxley walked away, for she finally noticed what it was that people had been doing as of late. They'd been calling her My Lady. It wasn't just Yaxley; Avery and Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange had done it, too. Bellatrix walked briskly from the dining-room, knowing she would find Voldemort in his office. When she reached the door, she knocked firmly, unsure of whether or not he had anyone inside.

"Come on in, Bella," she heard him say, and she wondered how he'd known it was her. She entered the office and shut the door behind her, and she smiled a little as she told him,

"Ophelia's having twins."

"Yes. Yaxley told me." Voldemort didn't look up from the parchment upon which he was scribbling. Bellatrix took the liberty of sitting in the chair opposite him, waiting until he signed his name with a flourish and blew on the ink. Finally he raised his eyebrows at her and asked, "Something wrong?"

Bellatrix sighed heavily. "They've started calling me  _My Lady_ ," she said, cutting right to the chase. Voldemort's face showed no sign of reaction, so she clarified, " _Madam Black_  out of deference is all well and good, but does it not seem… inappropriate… for them to say  _My Lady_? You're their Lord; I'm just your wife."

"Typically the wife of the lord is the lady," Voldemort clipped, folding his hands on the table, "but, then, I wouldn't expect you to be familiar with the customs of Muggle aristocracy."

Bellatrix frowned. "There is only one Dark Lord. There is no Dark Lady. There is only Bellatrix Black, who happens to be your wife."

"So you are uncomfortable with the level of respect they are showing you?" Voldemort seemed awfully confused, and Bellatrix wrung her hands on her lap as she said in desperation,

"That level of respect is only for you."

"You haven't earned it?" Voldemort demanded sceptically. "Night after night exhausting yourself with torture and killing? Undying loyalty toward me, the sort of loyalty none of them could even conceive of having? Bringing me physical pleasure, mental pleasure… emotional pleasure. Being a soldier, a companion, and a confidante? You think they don't know that you're more than they could ever be? Bella."

He scoffed and shook his head, rolling up the parchment before him. He poured some black wax on it and stamped with the Dark Mark, setting it aside as he muttered,

"Let them call you  _Your Royal Fucking Majesty_  for all I care; you've certainly earned My Lady."

"So I shouldn't correct them?" Bellatrix asked, still feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. Voldemort tipped his head and rolled his eyes.

"No. You should not correct them about a thing like that. I'm famished. What would you like for dinner? I'll have the House Elf send it up straight away."

Bellatrix shrugged, still confused by the way he'd talked about her. "Whatever you'd like, My Lord. It doesn't matter to me."

"Steak, then," he said lightly. "Go on up; I've a few things to finish and I'll be along."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix rose from her seat and started toward the door. She paused with her hand on the knob and turned back. "My Lord?"

"Hmm?" He'd started writing again, and he finished a sentence before looking up to her. For a moment, all Bellatrix could do was study his impossibly handsome face, the way he so expertly danced the line between frightening and beautiful. She finally managed to ask him,

"Are you happy?"

"Oh, yes," he said at once, his face solemn. "I am very happy."

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**25 April 1971**

"Are you bleeding?"

Bellatrix's face snapped up at the abrupt, almost rude way Voldemort had asked the question. Her mouth fell open and she set down the bite of steak she'd speared.

"No, My Lord," she said finally. "Not yet."

"You're not late?" Voldemort asked lightly, and Bellatrix shook her head as her cheeks went hot.

"No, My Lord," she said again.

"Good." He dabbed at his lips lightly. "I have a spell I thought up for you."

Bellatrix frowned deeply; this conversation was making her deeply uneasy. "What sort of spell?"

Voldemort took his time chewing a bite of steak and shrugged. He swigged down some red wine and told her, "We have you taking long-term potion to prevent pregnancy. Why should you bleed every month? It is an inconvenience to you, to me, and to your usefulness in battle. I've devised a spell, I think, to stop your bleeding entirely."

Bellatrix couldn't help but laugh then. "My Lord, if you've truly done that, you could sell the rights to the spell to every witch in Britain."

"Stand up, will you?" Voldemort said, rising from his own chair. Bellatrix let him pull her up, smelling wine and steak on him as he stood close to her. He brushed the tip of his new wand over her lower abdomen, and he whispered carefully, " _Arresto Sanguinalis Perpetua_."

Bellatrix frowned deeply. "Perpetua?" she repeated, feeling an icy chill go through her abdomen from the spell. "It's permanent? I certainly hope you've some way to reverse that!"

"Why would I want to reverse it?" Voldemort demanded. He sighed heavily. "We've discussed this, Bellatrix."

"No, no… I know. I wasn't suggesting… I didn't mean…" Bellatrix fell all over her words, feeling a little afraid at the look in his eye. She nodded and reassured him, "I understand I won't ever have a child."

"That's a job for Ophelia Selwyn and Dahlia Lestrange. Not for you," Voldemort said. "If you feel some sort of maternal instinct kick in, you can go play with their children."

Bellatrix thought for a moment, realising the last thing she wanted in her life were soiled nappies and a child screaming through the night. She grimaced and assured Voldemort, "I don't really have a maternal instinct, Master. I'm a soldier."

"I looked into Yaxley's mind," Voldemort said suddenly. "And Malfoy's. I looked for why they've been calling you My Lady. I looked for you, since you were uneasy about it."

"Is it because they're afraid of you?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort shook his head.

"It's because they're afraid of you. You terrify them, every last one of them. Even your own father. Did you know that?"

Bellatrix laughed aloud. "Daddy's afraid of me, is he?"

"Yes," Voldemort said seriously, returning to his seat. He stabbed his fork at a roast potato and chewed it thoughtfully. Bellatrix took a bite of her own food and then a deep drink of her dry red wine.

"Why is he afraid of me?" she asked finally, and Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow.

"The same reason they all are. You're the most capable of any of them when it comes to torture, when it comes to killing. And you never hesitate; they all know that. They know that means you wouldn't hesitate with them, either. Even your father knows that."

"So they fear my loyalty to you," Bellatrix suggested, "and because I am so liberal with my Unforgivables, they know I'd turn on any of them in a second and destroy them."

Voldemort folded his hands on the table. "You do understand what that really means, don't you? You're keeping them loyal to me."

"Oh, Master. I think you do that just fine yourself," Bellatrix insisted, staring into her glass of wine. Voldemort sniffed lightly.

"When we break into Hogwarts, I'll need you to destroy your former professors. Can you do that?"

Bellatrix scoffed and smirked. "Ha. Yes. That won't be a problem, My Lord."

Voldemort looked almost wistful then, turning his attention out the window onto the gardens, where the setting sun was casting a deep orange light. His voice was strangely quiet then as he said, " _Excuse me, sir, but I've got this beetle, and I wonder if you'd use it to show me the Cruciatus Curse._ "

Bellatrix sipped at her wine and asked, "That was me? At that party all those years ago?"

"Yes." Voldemort nodded and finished his own wine, rising from his chair as he loosened the black tie around his neck. Bellatrix could see that he was wearing the tie bar she'd given him. He always wore it, he'd said. Whenever he was wearing a tie, he wore it. Bellatrix glanced down at the ring on her finger and felt the serpent necklace that gave her the power to circumvent…

"Anti-Apparition Charms," she said aloud. When Voldemort turned, she gestured to her necklace. "You made me a necklace that gets around anti-Apparition Charms. Why not make similar items for yourself and the others? We wouldn't have to risk Honeydukes, then."

Voldemort licked his bottom lip carefully. "I'm not certain that's a power I want to share with too many others."

"Then why not just you and me?" Bellatrix suggested. She felt rather breathless then as she flew from her chair and said, "We could Apparate into the school in the dead of night, Disillusion ourselves… we could do it. You killed Dumbledore with only me to help; why couldn't we get McGonagall? We don't need the others!"

Voldemort chewed on his thumbnail for a moment. "Either we charge in with a small army or we go in stealth… I'm not sure which is better."

"If we'd charged at Albus Dumbledore with eight or nine people, he would have vanished before our eyes," Bellatrix reminded him. "This way, there's no battle. No risk of mass casualties on our side. We make a plan, we go in, and we carefully and systematically eliminate the ones we need gone."

Voldemort huffed a sigh. "It'd need an awful lot of planning."

"I'm willing to put in the time," Bellatrix assured him. He walked up to her and dusted his fingers over her necklace.

"You're right," he said finally. "Barging in through a tunnel, even in the summer, will only turn it into an unnecessary skirmish. We can make this a targeted execution. Precision."

"I know where they sleep," Bellatrix whispered. "Flitwick. Hagrid. Sprout. McGonagall. I know where their quarters are."

"We'd have to split up," Voldemort said firmly. "Take out Hagrid on our way in and then split… you'd get Flitwick and Sprout, and I'd go for McGonagall."

"Yes." Bellatrix nodded, feeling more excited by the moment. She put her hands to his black collared shirt, tightening her fingers as she whispered, "We can do this. We can take them all out. The school will be yours before anyone even notices a disturbance."

Voldemort looked a little dizzy then, and he pointed at the bedroom as he said in a lethal whisper, "Go take your clothes off, Bellatrix."

* * *

She felt good like this, with her ankles on his shoulders and her quim tight around his length. She felt like medicine, like the best sort of drunkenness. Voldemort stared down at her as he barrelled into her body, grunting with each thrust as she wrenched her eyes shut. She was so pretty like this, he thought. With her small breasts moving like they were underwater, with her teeth digging into her bottom lip. She was so intelligent. She was so loyal. She was so skilled. So beautiful.

Voldemort knew he couldn't last like this, not with how good she felt around him. He dipped his head and bucked his hips hard into his pretty young wife, and he came. It was like a bomb had gone off inside of him; he clutched at her knees and felt his body pump his pleasure into her. She gasped and arched up towards him, her body lean and tight as she soaked in the feel of him throbbing inside of her. Voldemort pulled out of her and collapsed onto the mattress beside of her, running the inside of his wrist over his sweaty forehead.

"I want a shower," he muttered, and Bellatrix was breathless as she agreed,

"Me, too."

"You can go first, if you'd like," Voldemort suggested. He turned his head to see Bellatrix smiling a little at him, her chest still heaving.

"We could go together," she whispered. No My Lord. No Master. She was so familiar now. He nodded and found himself rising from the bed, following Bellatrix into the bathroom as she turned on the spigot in the tiled shower. He said nothing at all as they took turns beneath the hot water, alternating back and forth in a smooth rhythm. She washed his hair and he washed hers. She massaged soap over his body, and then he turned her around and pulled her back against him. He cupped her slick left breast in her hand and let his right fingers trail down over her stomach and settle against her clit.

"Mmm… what are you doing?" she asked, her voice a pleasant hum as it echoed against the tiles. Again, there was no formality in her words, barely a hint of deference, and for some reason Voldemort did not mind.

"You never came," he murmured down into her ear. Bellatrix reached behind her to touch at the first hints of scruff on his jaw, and she let out a low rumble of a laugh.

"It's fine," she assured him.

"No, it's not," Voldemort argued. He pulsed his fingertips more steadily against her, twisting his fingers inside of her as his left hand caressed and pinched at her breast. He kissed the wet skin beneath her ear and said quietly, "You'll come for me, sweet little thing. You always do."

Bellatrix's legs seemed like they were on the edge of giving out; she leaned heavily back against him and her breath audibly quickened. Voldemort breathed in the heady scent of her as her body woke back up. He let his left hand trail down over her ribs, squeezed at her waist, and then pulled her back more tightly by her narrow hip.

"Bella," he heard himself whisper, pushing his fingers steadily against her nub. "They're all so very terrified of you, Bella. Me most of all."

"What?" Bellatrix sounded drunk and confused, and he didn't answer her. Her left arm shot out so she could lean against the tile wall, and she bent forward a little as her whole body tightened. Voldemort kissed the wet skin between Bellatrix's shoulderblades and murmured,

"Come on, little thing. You've earned it."

When she came, her walls clenching tightly around his fingers, she cried out and her hand slapped at the tile. She stood up and leaned back against him again, and they stood there like that in the hot water for a very long moment. He just held her, cradling her back against him and thinking he could stay like that forever. There was a war to finish, of course. There was reigning to do. Power to savour. But for right now, he figured he could just stay like this.

"Why are you afraid of me?" he heard Bellatrix ask after a long while. Voldemort sighed and reached around to turn off the taps. He used nonverbal, wandless magic - skills so few possessed - to make them both dry and warm. Bellatrix had turned to face him by then, and Voldemort traced his arms around her shoulders as he tipped his head and said,

"They're only afraid of the curses you throw. I'm afraid of much more than that. You ought to know why."

"I don't know why… My Lord." Bellatrix seemed to remember herself then, and that only made Voldemort smirk. He lowered his face and stared at their bare feet on the wet ground, the way her delicate, small feet looked in front of his large, rough ones.

"I'm afraid of you because I'm in love with you, Bellatrix," he said in a monotone. "It's not complicated."

He raised his eyes to her, and she said in a careful tone,

"It's been like this between you and I for two and a half years. I haven't ruined too much for you yet, have I, Master?"

"No. Quite the opposite." Voldemort tucked her wild curls behind her ear and leaned to kiss her, taking a long moment to drink her in before he pulled back and said, "You're right about Hogwarts. It will be better to go in stealth. The school will be mine, and you'll put the Dark Mark in the sky above it, won't you?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. "I told you I would destroy your enemies, and I meant it. I am your soldier and your servant. Forever."

"And you're my wife," Voldemort noted, his eyes scanning up and down her unreasonably pretty body. "My soldier, my servant. My wife. Forever. But I won't stop being afraid of you."

"That's all right," Bellatrix nodded. She reached up for his face and brought him down to kiss her again. "You'll win either way


	3. Book the Third

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**8 May, 1971**

"My Lord, if it's all right with you, I'm going to go visit Ophelia Yaxley." Bellatrix leaned on the doorway of Voldemort's small office in their house, and he looked up from his work and nodded.

"That's fine," he said. Then he glanced around and pinched his lips as he asked, "Have you seen Noha since we came back?"

Bellatrix frowned and shook her head. They'd only left their suite at Malfoy Manor a few days earlier, now that things had settled down enough for them to be back in their own home. Noha was perfectly capable of caring for himself, but Bellatrix hadn't spotted the snake in weeks now.

"Hmm." Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk. "If he's happier outside, I suppose, more power to him."

"I'm sorry, My Lord," Bellatrix said, unsure of what else to say. Her master seemed to have a very close relationship with snakes in general, owing to him being a Parselmouth, and he'd like Noha quite a bit. But Voldemort shrugged and said,

"It's just a pet snake, Bella. Enjoy yourself at the Yaxleys'."

"Right. I'll be home in a few hours," Bellatrix said. She turned to go, and from behind her, Voldemort said,

"Wait. I've a letter for Tudor Yaxley. I was going to send it by owl, but… since you're going." He flicked his wand and sent a rolled parchment sailing through the air toward Bellatrix. She caught it and nodded with a little smile.

"I'll give it to him straight away, My Lord."

"Bella," he said, and she turned round again with her hand on the doorway. He just stared at her for a long moment, then finally turned up the corners of his mouth and nodded. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm as she smiled back, and she Disapparated from where she stood.

When she came to ground in Peterborough, just outside the Yaxley home, it was raining a little. She walked quickly through the drizzle up the front steps and thudded the knocker three times on the large wooden door. After just a moment, an ill-looking House Elf opened the door and said in a wispy voice,

"Please do come inside."

Bellatrix followed the House Elf into the small manor, glancing around the airy foyer as she cast a few drying spells on herself. The little elf coughed lightly and said,

"Pocky will fetch the Master for you, Miss, if you'll wait right here."

"I'm here for Madam Yaxley, actually," Bellatrix said, "for Ophelia. Although… I do have something to deliver to Master Yaxley. Why don't you fetch him first?"

"Yes, Miss." The House Elf seemed blissfully ignorant about Bellatrix's identity, and as it scampered away, Bellatrix sighed and waited. She'd last been here for Ophelia's wedding to Tudor Yaxley, and she couldn't help but remember dancing with the Dark Lord here.

"My Lady," said Yaxley's clear, deep voice as he came walking briskly into the foyer. Bellatrix flashed him a little smile, but was surprised when he bowed to her. It seemed more than polite; it seemed deferential. Bellatrix felt awkward as he did it, and she hurried to familiarise things again.

"Tudor, the Dark Lord wanted me to give you this, since I was coming to visit Ophelia." She handed over the scroll, and Yaxley nodded like he knew exactly what the contents of the scroll were.

"Thank you very much, My Lady," he said, and Bellatrix finally sighed and rolled her eyes.

"You needn't call me that," she insisted, but Yaxley's mouth fell open and his face went white.

"If you don't mind, I think I shall," he said, and Bellatrix felt an odd twist in her stomach. She shrugged and said lightly,

"All right, then. Is Ophelia here?"

"Yes; she's upstairs. I'll show you," Yaxley started up the wide, winding staircase, and as Bellatrix followed, he asked over his shoulder, "Is the Dark Lord well?"

"He is," Bellatrix said. "He's busy. Sorting everything out at the Ministry. I'm sure you're very aware."

"So I am, My Lady," Yaxley smiled. They reached the top of the landing, and he sounded abruptly tired as he said, "Those of us involved in the Ministry overhaul have been working many hours on the transition. It's well worth the effort. Ophelia's just in here; she was reading. She'll be very happy to see you."

"Thank you, Tudor," Bellatrix said, opening the double doors to which Yaxley had gestured. She walked inside, and round-faced Ophelia looked up from the divan where she had a book perched on her enormous belly. She grinned and set the book down, starting to heave herself up to stand.

"Oh, no. Sit!" Bellatrix cried, but Ophelia kept pulling herself up.

"Mmph. The Healer says I have to walk around every few hours!" She put her hands on her stomach, around which her jade green robes tented and fell elegantly. She was like a statue, like some kind of eternal homage to maternity, Bellatrix thought. She gulped and asked Ophelia,

"How are you feeling?"

Ophelia pursed her lips. "I'd be lying if I said my back didn't hurt terribly. And my ankles swell, and… well, it's twins, you know, so I'm so much bigger, but you know what I mean."

"Of course." Bellatrix had absolutely no idea what Ophelia meant, of course, and she was suddenly overcome with a desire to never find out. Ophelia took a few steps back and forth and then huffed,

"Ugh. All right. Let's sit."

She sank back down onto the divan, and Bellatrix sat in the chair opposite her. Ophelia smiled again and asked,

"Can I have some tea sent up?"

"No, that's all right. Thank you," Bellatrix said, noting the little glass of water Ophelia already had on the table beside her. She folded her hands in her lap and said apologetically, "You've probably seen very little of your husband lately. He's been working hard on the transition at the Ministry."

Ophelia waved her hand dismissively. "In history, so often, witches have lost their husbands' time or worse to wars. You're right in the trenches with the Dark Lord, so I suppose you see him more."

Bellatrix shrugged, unwilling to divulge too much of Lord Voldemort's personal life even to Ophelia. His distance from the rest of them was important. "He works constantly," she said, "and so do I. I handle the prisoners, mostly."

Ophelia's face soured for a moment, but then she forced a smile and said, "I never doubted you'd make a good interrogator, Bella. Oh, I'm sorry. I mustn't call you that, Tudor says."

Bellatrix found herself rolling her eyes again. "You can go right ahead calling me Bella. I'm not the one who's taken over wizarding Britain."

Ophelia's face was strange then, and she hesitated for so long that Bellatrix wished she was a Legilimens. Ophelia's cheeks flushed scarlet, and she asked quietly,

"What is it like? Being married to… him?"

Bellatrix laughed quietly. "I could ask you the same thing… what's it like being married to Tudor Yaxley? I have no idea what it's like being married to anyone else. Have you already decorated the nursery for the babies?"

She'd changed the subject quickly because it felt wildly uncomfortable to discuss her marriage to Lord Voldemort. Ophelia seemed to sense the importance of staying away from the topic. She nodded and said,

"We don't know if they're boys, girls, or one of each. We decorated the nursery in a soft grey. Would you like to see?"

The two of them walked down the upstairs corridor then, into a large room that had two matching cribs in dark wood. The walls were heather grey and the curtains were wispy white. It was a simple, elegant space, but Bellatrix felt no emotion looking around it. She was surprised to see Ophelia had teared up, and Bellatrix asked quickly,

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes." Ophelia swiped the tears from her eyes and gestured to the cribs. "It's just… I can't wait to meet them, you know?"

"Oh. Of course." Bellatrix frowned, frustrated by the way she felt so different from Ophelia. Bellatrix was a soldier. She tortured and killed her husband's enemies. Ophelia was a wife, a broodmare. Little more. It was as Bellatrix had told Voldemort in this very house around a year earlier. Dahlia and Ophelia had been her roommates in the Slytherin girls' dormitory. They were friends of convenience, not actual friends.

"I should let you rest," Bellatrix said finally, and Ophelia walked with her from the nursery, carefully shutting the door behind her.

"Thank you so much for coming!" Ophelia exclaimed. "It gets rather lonely, just sitting around waiting for them to come!"

"I understand," Bellatrix nodded, though of course she didn't. She'd been anything but lonely these days, between battles and meetings and interrogations and her husband. Just the same, she patted Ophelia on the shoulder and said lightly, "Be well."

"Thanks, Bella. See you." Ophelia cradled her swollen belly at the top of the stairs as Bellatrix padded down. The House Elf opened the front door for her, and Bellatrix Disapparated as soon as she was in the gardens.

* * *

"That wasn't a very long visit," Voldemort observed, looking up from his desk to see Bellatrix in the doorway again. She sighed and stepped into the room, sinking heavily into the chair opposite his as she said,

"I've nothing in common with Ophelia anymore, My Lord. She just cares about eating chocolate and crying over babies that aren't even born yet. I'm helping to fight a war; she could never understand."

"No, of course she couldn't," Voldemort said, setting down his quill. He shrugged. "She's just a silly little girl. Nearly all of them are. I've told you before; you're not like the rest of them. You'll find it difficult to find real friends. Trust me. I speak from experience."

Bellatrix smirked at him, pushing her curls out of her face as she asked cheekily, "Am I not your friend?"

"The truest friend there ever was," Voldemort affirmed. He picked up his quill and said quietly, "Let me finish writing this and I'll be done for the evening."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I'll go." Bellatrix started to rise, but Voldemort reached his left hand out and wandlessly compelled her to sit. She stared at him, her mouth halfway between shock and laughter, and he threw up an eyebrow as he said,

"It'll only be a moment."

He put his quill to his paper and finished off a letter to Abraxas Malfoy.

_I am most pleased to hear of unanimous support among remaining Ministry employees. Last night, Bellatrix finished off the last resistors from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. That should leave no one else in the Ministry requiring elimination, but if any suspicion arises, I want the employee in question delivered to Malfoy Manor at once. Send me copies of the letters of recognition from the Ministries of Germany, France, Italy, and Norway. As soon as others arrive, I want copies of my own in addition to those filed at the Ministry. My plans for Hogwarts are now entirely private; the mission will be much smaller than originally planned. Keep me apprised of any other important happenings before the scheduled meeting next Tuesday. - LV_

Voldemort blew on the parchment to dry the ink, and then he folded it and rose from his chair. He walked over to the open window, where one of the Malfoys' owls was waiting patiently, and he tied the letter to the owl's leg. It took off at once, and Voldemort shut the window. He turned back to Bellatrix and said tightly,

"Tell me where the professors sleep."

She knew exactly what he meant. She nodded at once and sat up straighter in her chair. "Flitwick's office is on the seventh floor. Thirteen windows from the right. His sleeping quarters are in there. Hagrid is the groundskeeper these days; he lives in a hut near the edge of the grounds. McGonagall will be in the Headmaster's Tower. Sprout lives and has an office in Greenhouse Four."

Voldemort sat on the edge of his desk, folding his arms over the shirt he'd unbuttoned a bit. He studied Bellatrix's face and said firmly,

"The eleventh of June. We're going on the eleventh of June."

"Three days after term ends," Bellatrix nodded. "She'd expect us the day after."

"Right," Voldemort affirmed. "We'll go from here at one in the morning. I've made myself my own device to circumvent the anti-Apparition charms."

He touched at his tie, at the serpent-shaped tie bar she'd given him for his forty-second birthday. An odd look came over Bellatrix's face, and she asked softly,

"My gift? You used that?"

"Is that all right with you?" he asked sarcastically, and Bellatrix's cheeks coloured at once.

"Of course it is, My Lord," she nodded. "So we go at one o'clock. To where?"

"Just outside Merlin's Gate," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "I'll head for Hagrid's hut; you'll go for the Greenhouses. Then I'll go inside and go straight for the Headmaster's Tower. You'll go to the seventh floor and take care of Flitwick."

"Take care of him," Bellatrix repeated. "You want him dead? Him and Sprout?"

She asked so nonchalantly that Voldemort couldn't help but smile. He shrugged.

"Yes. I rather wish you could work your special brand of magic on them - Cruciate them until they're insane. But we won't have time for that. Disarm. Kill. Leave."

Bellatrix nodded firmly. "And once I'm finished with Flitwick?"

"Hopefully I'll be done with McGonagall, and I can move the Imperiused Slughorn up to the Headmaster's office," he said. "We'll meet back here."

Bellatrix looked a little uneasy, and she shifted in her chair before she said delicately, "Our Horcruxes…"

"Neither of us will die for this, Bellatrix," Voldemort said firmly. He met her eyes and said in an unequivocal tone, "Neither the Dark Lord nor his lady will disappear because of some bloody Hogwarts teachers, you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord. I understand." Bellatrix folded her hands in her lap, and Voldemort decided he was quite finished with work for the day. He held his hand out, and when Bellatrix took it, he pulled her up to stand. She stared up at him, her eyes dark and cold and wonderful, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her carefully.

"You're not like those silly little girls," he reminded her, and she nodded.

"I'm your soldier."

He kissed her again, harder this time, deciding that he was more than a little glad he'd married her.

* * *

**Black Family Residence, Kensington, London**

**24 May 1971**

"Mother?" Bellatrix stepped inside the elegant townhome where she'd grown up, and from the parlour to her left, Druella's voice called,

"In here, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix had received an owl urgently calling her to her family's residence, and she had a sneaking suspicion someone had died. She stepped into the parlour and saw her parents sitting primly, a letter clutched in Druella's hands.

"What's going on?" Bellatrix asked, making her way to the armchair across from her parents and sinking down to sit. Druella passed the letter in her hands to Bellatrix, and she said,

"This came from Hogwarts early this morning. From Narcissa. Your father's already met with the Dark Lord about it, a few hours ago at Malfoy Manor."

Bellatrix frowned deeply and read the letter.

_Mummy and Daddy,_

_In the wake of Albus Dumbledore's death,_ school _has been very chaotic. Professor McGonagall has taken her place as the school's headmistress. She has announced that the school will stay open over the summer holidays. Owing to the war's severity and 'the need to establish where loyalties lie,' she has stated that any student who leaves for the summer will not be permitted to return in the autumn. She says this is a matter of the school's security. You should be getting an official letter from Hogwarts on the matter, but I thought this information may be of important note for the Dark Lord, in case he has not already heard. All my love._

_Narcissa_

Bellatrix huffed out a breath and crumpled the letter in her hands. The plan she and Voldemort had hatched relied heavily on the idea that Hogwarts would be empty in the summer. The Dark Lord had promised his followers that he would not make a battleground of their children's school. Now they would have to find some way to trap McGonagall, to take her out individually away from the school. This had thrown a wrench in the gears like nothing else could do. It also demonstrated that McGonagall suspected Voldemort would come to the school. She was using the students as human shields. She was no better than the Dark Lord when it came to that, then, Bellatrix thought. She tossed the crumpled letter down onto the low table before her, and she asked her father,

"What did the Dark Lord say when you told him about this?"

"He… he was very angry," Cygnus said, looking a bit white. "Be careful, Bellatrix. He seemed… dangerous."

"He's always dangerous," Bellatrix scoffed. She chewed her lip hard. "Don't worry. He and I will get this figured out. We'll devise a new plan."

Druella seemed surprised that Bellatrix was as involved as that, and she realised perhaps she'd said too much. She rose from her chair and sighed.

"I should go home. Help him strategise." She paused then and glanced at Cygnus. "Father, when did you speak with him about this?"

"Four or five hours ago," Cygnus said. "I sent the owl to you straight away; I've no idea why it took so long to find you."

"I wasn't at home. It found me shopping in Knockturn Alley," Bellatrix said numbly. She could not help but wonder why Voldemort hadn't called her through her Dark Mark as soon as he found out about this. A sense of unease came over her, and she said again, "I've got to go home."

"Of course, dear," Druella nodded. Bellatrix left the parlour without another word, quickly Disapparating from the front corridor. When she came to, she was in a similar-looking townhouse, this one in St Alban's Grove - the house she shared with Lord Voldemort.

"My Lord?" she called, stepping carefully into the library. He wasn't there, and when she made her way through the parlour and the kitchen and the dining-room, she found them all empty. She kicked off her boots and padded up the staircase, checking the sunroom before she heard his voice growl,

"In the bedroom, Bellatrix."

There was something strange about his voice, and when Bellatrix stepped over the threshold of their bedroom, her mouth fell open in shock.

He was old again.

He looked his natural forty-four years of age, and Bellatrix blinked quickly as she studied him in his wingback chair. He swirled a mostly-empty tumbler of whisky and finished it off, and then Bellatrix saw the bottle of whisky on the table. It was dangerously empty. She sighed and measured her words carefully.

"May I ask, My Lord, why you've decided to… reverse the age situation again?"

"I got tired of playing dress-up with my face," Voldemort drawled, and Bellatrix realised just how drunk he was. She took a few steps into the room and suggested,

"Perhaps I should start brewing the Surripiotempus Potion. It'll take two days, and I have a suspicion that you -"

"My Death Eaters know how old I am," Voldemort slurred. He waved his hand dismissively. "It's stupid to pretend to be young when you're not. It's childish. I've done of childish things lately. Like marrying a child."

Bellatrix chewed her lip. "I understand, My Lord, that you are rightfully angry about what McGonagall's done. But I promise you… we will kill her."

"We," he repeated, tipping his head back and laughing a little. Bellatrix examined his face, knowing he wasn't going to want to present himself to his followers at this age. She wasn't even sure how he'd gotten himself back to this apparent age without the long-brewing potion. But Voldemort did not seem concerned with his age as he mused, "Yes. Minerva's been a stupid wench. Just like always. Using the children to try and keep me away. It won't work; I'll go in there with the dormitories full."

"We'll devise a good plan," Bellatrix promised him, and when he lowered his eyes to her, he seemed very angry.

"There it is again. We. Your participation in my life over the last few years has been… problematic. I always knew you were a troublemaker, Bella."

Bellatrix frowned and felt a shock of indignation go through her. She opened her mouth to say something, but Voldemort barrelled on in an increasingly slurred growl,

"Do you know how many dreams I had about you not coming back from Hogwarts? Hm? About you using your Horcrux and existing in some mutilated form? Not being you anymore? Do you understand how ridiculous and unacceptable it is that Lord Voldemort has woken up in a cold sweat worried about whether his pretty little wife will survive a battle? I can't win this fucking war when I'm factoring in you, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix shook her head in disbelief. She couldn't understand how the bad news about Minerva McGonagall had turned into a diatribe about Bellatrix being a hindrance to the war effort. She did understand, at least a little, why he'd felt compelled to strip off his disguise. If he'd been thinking about their Horcruxes, about mortality or injury, it might have started to seem distasteful to pretend so hard about his age. Bellatrix said as calmly as she could,

"I promise you, My Lord, that I will do whatever I can to help you. That is my only purpose in life - to serve you. What could I have done differently for you?"

"You could have… not been born," Voldemort shrugged, giving her a mean look of the sort she'd never seen from him before. He scoffed and added, "You being born was probably the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Because if you hadn't been born, you wouldn't have been able to commit that most grave sin… making me fall in love with you. You stupid little child."

"I am not a child," Bellatrix whispered. She blinked through tears and said in a shaking voice, "If it was a sin to make you love me, then I beg your forgiveness. But I would… I would like to remind you, with all due respect, My Lord, that it was me who helped you kill Albus Dumbledore."

"I could have done that just fine without you," Voldemort snapped. His own eyes glistened, and Bellatrix couldn't tell if it was emotion or if it was just from the drink. Either way, his words stung her hard, and she found herself swiping tears off her own cheeks. Voldemort heaved himself off his chair and staggered toward her, almost tripping on his robes. He stood a few inches away from Bellatrix, looking so much more severe with the added fifteen years of life on his face. He sneered at Bellatrix and told her, "You need to leave me. Go live with your parents. Go live by yourself. I don't care. I can't account for loving you in my plans."

Bellatrix felt like she'd been punched in the stomach, and she furiously swiped at the tears on her face as Voldemort demanded,

"Why are you crying?"

"What?" Bellatrix gasped, raising her face to him. She was more than just hurt now. She was angry. She steadied herself and snapped at him, "I have tortured and killed for you. I split my soul up for you. I committed to a permanent, indissoluble marriage to you. When Alastor Moody turned you into a twenty-year-old boy, it was me who helped you get your face back. When your vain experiment to stay looking thirty failed, it was me to invented a potion to help you. I learnt Occlumency for you. I learnt to Imperius more strongly for you. I helped you kill Albus Dumbledore, and you distinctly told me you would not be able to do it without me. I am your wife, and I have helped you, and I will help you in the future, but you can't send me away. You just can't."

"I can do whatever I damn well please," he snarled through clenched teeth. He loomed over her, reeking of whisky and rage, and he whispered, "I am Lord Voldemort, or had you forgotten?"

"How could I ever forget?" Bellatrix demanded. She yanked up the sleeve of her robe and started rubbing furiously at her Dark Mark. She thought about him making love to her, thought about being on her knees and taking him in her mouth, and she asked again, "How could I possibly forget who you are or what we mean to one another?"

"Stop it," Voldemort said firmly, stumbling backward a step and glaring at Bellatrix's wrist. She kept massaging her Dark Mark, thinking of the time in Spain when she'd hovered above him whilst he used his mouth on her. He growled in anger and barked again, "Stop it! Stop it now, Bellatrix!"

"Why?" Bellatrix tipped her head, just the way he always did, and she sniffed, "Something wrong, My Lord?"

He finally grabbed at her wrist, and Bellatrix cried out from the pain. He squeezed her hard, too hard, and his breath shook as he warned her,

"You push me too far when I'm like this, Bellatrix. I'm liable to kill you."

"You can't, remember?" Bellatrix whispered, and he tightened his hand on her wrist. She screamed a little, for it felt almost like he'd broken a bone. Her knees buckled beneath her, and more tears squeezed out of her eyes. She glared up to him and managed to say, "Minerva McGonagall… doesn't realise we know about the tunnel… from Honeydukes. We'll sneak in that way… go up to the… Headmaster's Tower. And kill her there. Quietly. Quickly. Put Slughorn in."

"Shut up." Voldemort somehow tightened his grip on Bellatrix's arm, and she felt something splinter. She started to sob, unable to help herself. Her plan was solid. She knew it was. McGonagall's hubris was just a setback. Once he was sober, Voldemort would know that, too.

"Please… please let me fix my arm," Bellatrix begged, and suddenly something inside Voldemort seemed to snap to rights. He released Bellatrix's arm, and she could tell he'd managed some kind of fracture. He reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, but Bellatrix held her right hand up defensively.

"N-no!" she exclaimed. "Please. Please let me do it; you're too drunk."

Voldemort took a step back, swaying where he stood until he finally leaned onto the thick bedpost. Bellatrix pulled out her bent wand and aimed it at her left wrist, murmuring firmly, " _Ferula._ "

She could feel the bones in her wrist snap and pop a little, and then bandages appeared out of the air and wound themselves around her wrist. A stiff splinted brace was Conjured, too, and the incredibly pain Voldemort had inflicted upon her faded. Bellatrix looked up to see Voldemort staring in horror at her wrist, and he raked his fingers through his thinning, greying hair as he said dully,

"I cast the Cruciatus Curse on Abraxas Malfoy for hurting his wife."

"It's not the same thing," Bellatrix sighed. "You're not Abraxas Malfoy, for one. And… this morning's news was -"

"Not your fault," Voldemort whispered. His glassy eyes found Bellatrix's, and he opened his arms up as he invited her,

"Go on. Take your revenge."

"What?" Bellatrix shook her head and walked slowly to the bed, sliding up to sit on the edge. "I don't want to hurt you, My Lord. I just want to help you. Please don't send me away."

"I had to find someone to blame," Voldemort muttered. "I felt like a fool, preening around, pretending to be a young man, dreaming about losing you. Then to hear that our perfect plan had been anticipated and foiled… it was too much. I am not a man who should drink… so very much whiskey."

"It's fine," Bellatrix lied, her voice a weak whisper. Voldemort was still staring at her wrist, at the splint she'd put on it, and Bellatrix self-consciously wrapped her fingers around the brace. She looked up at her drunken, aged husband, at the powerful Dark Lord, and she said, "If you want, Master, I will Obliviate every memory of my existence from your mind. You'll forget all about me. I'll disappear; I'll leave. If I am truly such a mental inconvenience… if you really believe that I am a hindrance to your power, then I will Obliviate you and leave. Please just tell me… is that what you want?"

"No," Voldemort said immediately. He turned his dark eyes to her and shrugged. "No. If I lost everyone else, I'd still have you. Wouldn't I?"

"Of course you would," Bellatrix said seriously. Voldemort sat on the bed beside her, stroking at the brace on her left wrist with an apologetic look on his face.

"I couldn't help but love you," he drawled, sounding more drunk than ever. "It's easiest to take out anger on the ones who'll always come crawling back. I took advantage of your loyalty today because I was angry. The reality is that you didn't make me love you. I checked your mind, remember? Checked for a spell, for a potion. You didn't force my hand… or my mind… or anything else. I let it happen. And you helped me kill Albus Dumbledore."

Bellatrix nodded, wondering if he'd regret making himself old again. Perhaps he wouldn't. Perhaps, even in his drunken state, he was right about simply being himself, with no mask. But he looked tired like this, like the war had worn him down already. She reached with her right hand - the uninjured one - and she stroked at his jaw.

"Please let me help you kill McGonagall," she whispered. "Please let me help you take Hogwarts."

"Mm-hmm. We'll sneak in from Honeydukes." He covered her hand with his and then pulled her knuckles to his lips. He shut his eyes and said the words she'd never heard him use with anyone else. "I'm sorry."

Bellatrix felt queasy all of a sudden, and she pulled her hand from his mouth. She rose from the edge of the bed and said, "We have Nec Mora Arida Potion in the stores downstairs. You could be sober in a half hour. I'll fetch you some. Shall I also start a batch of Surripiotempus Potion, My Lord?"

"No," he said blankly. "I'm staying like this. If they can only follow a handsome young man, and I have to rely on potions to keep up my appearance for their loyalty, then they don't deserve my leadership. I am forty-four years old. This is my face."

It was the most sober-sounding thing he'd said since Bellatrix had walked in the room, so she nodded, trusting his judgment on that. She walked briskly out of the bedroom and down the stairs, making her way into the kitchen and searching for the potion that would quickly dissolve the effects of the whisky from his veins. As she shut the door of the potions cupboard, she stared at her left wrist and remembered how ferociously he'd squeezed at her. She remembered the feel of her bones popping, and she winced.

She had married a monster. Eugenia Jenkins had said so, just before Bellatrix had tortured her into insanity. But, then, that very act made Bellatrix a monster, too. They were just two married monsters, Bellatrix thought. Two souls overcome by Darkness, bound together by permanent vows and an admittedly twisted sense of love.

Bellatrix sighed, walked out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, her master's medicine clutched tightly in her fist.

* * *

**Number Six, St Albans Grove, London**

**24 May 1971**

Bellatrix went to bed early. Voldemort knew that because he watched from his office as she shuffled, her nightgown trailing behind her short form, into the kitchen. He heard her rifling around in the potions stores and knew she was getting Ache-Away Syrup to help the pain in her wrist. It would make her drowsy, and so he was unsurprised when she padded quietly back up the stairs and shut the bedroom door.

He stared for a long while at the letter before him. It was from Rodolphus Lestrange, who was now the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. There were no defectors left in the department, Rodolphus wrote, and indeed there were more than a few very able-bodied witches and wizards with an inclination to more actively join Voldemort's political movement.

Voldemort stared at Rodolphus Lestrange's writing and remembered just how jealous he'd been of the young man. That had been stupid, he thought now. Bellatrix's loyalty to her master had never really been in question, but today more than ever, he knew that she was entirely his. He would have preferred to have that idea reinforced without breaking her wrist.

He couldn't keep the mask of youth on any longer, he'd decided. Predicating his reign on a disguise was a bad idea. Already, they'd seen that Moody's spell was temperamental. Who was to say the potions wouldn't fail at some point? Voldemort's appearance needed to be either entirely controlled or entirely natural. It was a weakness, a vulnerability, for him to recruit and maintain loyalty with a mask and then have the mask snatched away from him.

So he would look old. And when they inevitably wondered why their lord and master had briefly taken himself back in time, they would have no answer. Let it be a mystery to them, Voldemort thought. Let them all marvel at the way he moved and acted and shifted in ways the rest of them couldn't. He glanced over to the wall of the office, where a wooden-framed mirror hung reflecting the streetlamps from outside the window. In the dim light of the office, Voldemort studied his face - the lines and the sagging and the ways he was still sharp and cold.

He hadn't killed Albus Dumbledore with a handsome face.

Suddenly there was a quiet rustling sound at the doorway of the office, and Voldemort peered around to see that Noha, his little snake, had come slithering into the room. Voldemort scoffed quietly and whispered in a hiss,

_"Hayanassss afa midhi?"_

He'd asked the snake, in as sarcastic a tone as could be managed in Parseltongue, whether he'd gotten bored during his weeks away. Noha just stared at him for a moment, and Voldemort wondered if something was wrong with the creature. Finally Noha hissed in Parseltongue,

_"You have wounded the woman."_

Voldemort's mouth fell open, and finally he shrugged and assured Noha, "She's fine."

Noha's face pivoted, as though the snake were looking out of the office and up the stairs to the bedroom. His beady eyes met Voldemort's again, and he hissed,

" _Do not wound her again."_

"I'm not going to take orders from a bloody garter snake," Voldemort snarled in English. The snake just stared at him, and suddenly he was overcome with rage toward the animal. He snatched his wand off his desk, flew to his feet, and said in a low voice,  _"Vipera Evanesca._ "

Noha was Vanished at once, his little body dissolving into Nonbeing. Voldemort stared at the spot where Noha had been. He shut his eyes, remembering the day Bellatrix had brought Noha home from Knockturn Alley. The snake had been curled happily around Bellatrix's wrists and hands. She'd intended for the snake to be a familiar for Voldemort, since he was the Parselmouth. But it had always been clear that Noha had an unusual fondness for Bellatrix, especially since she did not possess any particular affinity with snakes.

Now Voldemort had destroyed her gift. It didn't matter that Noha had been missing for weeks, that they'd thought he'd left for good. Just now, Noha had expressed anger at his mistress being injured. Noha had neither venom nor the power to kill with a squeeze, and yet he'd scolded the Dark Lord himself in Parseltongue. For Bellatrix.

Voldemort walked quickly from his office, trotting up the stairs and pausing outside the bedroom door. He didn't know if Bellatrix was asleep yet, and if she was, he didn't much want to rouse her. He intended on sleeping in the guest room tonight, to give her space since he'd been rather awful to her earlier. She'd been right, of course, and that had become more obvious once Voldemort had sobered up. Her plan to simply go into Hogwarts, the two of them, through the Honeydukes tunnel made perfect sense. If, as the date got closer, Apparition via their devices seemed smarter, they'd do that. Either way, they could easily Disillusion themselves and perhaps even intercept McGonagall on a night patrol. Bellatrix had mentioned, once Voldemort was sober, that her sister Narcissa was a school Prefect. Bellatrix had already sent a letter to Narcissa asking what McGonagall's routes and times for patrols were. She was thinking this all through, much more sensibly than Voldemort had done.

And, of course, there was the way he'd broken her wrist.

He sighed as he raised his hand to knock. He hesitated and reached out with Legilimency, trying to sense if her mind was awake or asleep. He was hit with her now-automatic Occlumency the second he pried into her head. So she was awake, then. Voldemort knocked gently on the bedroom door and then opened it, poking his head into the room as he asked,

"May I come in?"

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix set down the book she'd had open on her lap, and Voldemort tried to decide whether he ought to just pretend Noha had never come back. Instead he sat on the bed, facing Bellatrix, and he said matter-of-factly,

"I've just killed Noha. Well… I Vanished him, actually."

Bellatrix blinked a few times and said carefully, "I'm assuming you had a very good reason."

"Not really," Voldemort admitted. "He chastised me for hurting you. I don't take criticism well."

Bellatrix put the ribbon bookmark into her novel and shut it, dusting the fingertips of her right hand over the leather cover. Her left hand sat limply at her side, splinted and braced. Voldemort pursed his lips and said seriously,

"It was all wrong, what I did. Pretending it was your fault that McGonagall got proactive. Pretending it was your fault that I fear losing you. And it was very wrong of me to break your wrist. I would like very much to be able to tell you that I didn't realise how hard I was squeezing, but that would be a lie. I felt your bones crack and I squeezed harder anyway."

Bellatrix's eyebrows crumpled, and her voice was just a wisp as she asked, "Master… why would you tell me that?"

"I need you to be less deferential to me," Voldemort informed her. When Bellatrix looked confused, he said, "You're my wife. Wives don't call their husbands Master. I mean… perhaps some do, but ironically. If they're role-playing or something. It's different when you are really and truly positioned beneath my boot."

"But everyone is positioned beneath your boot," Bellatrix shrugged. Voldemort's chest hurt badly then, and he picked at the coverlet as he said,

"You need to be positioned beside me. A half step back, perhaps, but… beside me. Because otherwise I'll break your leg like I broke your wrist, and eventually I'll break your heart. My dreams of losing you involve you dying, or falling in love with someone else, or falling out of love with me. I imagine breaking your wrist doesn't exactly make you love me more."

"I don't understand," Bellatrix admitted. "What would have me do? I'm your soldier. I'm your servant."

"Mmm-hmm," Voldemort nodded, "but first of all, before all that, you're my wife."

"That sounds backwards from how you've always explained it," Bellatrix pointed out, drumming her good fingers on her book. Voldemort grazed his fingertips over the brace on her wrist and mused,

"Have you ever considered just how very complicated the word partner is? People use it in business. Two partners own a shop together, you know? They use in Potions class. You work with a partner. They use in love. You fall in love with your partner. And every time it's used, there's an important connotation - equality. Partners are equals."

"No one is equal to you," Bellatrix said. "Not even me. Probably most especially not me."

Voldemort raised his eyes to hers and said, "We have Horcruxes and a perpetually-binding marriage. I have many years of our mutual happiness to consider. I will be much happier, and I promise you will be, too, if our situation more closely resembles a partnership."

Bellatrix lowered her face and murmured, "My Lord…"

"See. That. What you just did. You took your eyes away from me and you mumbled an honorific. I'm your damned husband, aren't I?"

She stared right at him then, her dark eyes glittering as she reminded him, "I have no name to call you."

She was right, of course. He was not Tom Riddle. That boy was long, long gone. It seemed silly for her to call him Voldemort whilst he was plundering her and she needed something to chant. But Master and My Lord, at least in private, felt so distant and inherently submissive. He called her Bella. When he was coming and needed a velvet word to whisper into the air, it was Bella. He sighed heavily, trying to think of a solution. He realised there was nothing else for her to call him, and his chest hurt worse than ever. He would never have imagined sitting here, desperately trying to circumvent the system of deference he'd created for himself.

He felt her hand on his, and when he looked down, she was pulling back the sleeve of his robe so she could graze her thumb over his Dark Mark. He huffed through his teeth, feeling a sudden heady rush, and he shook his head.

"Not now," he said, but she insisted,

"To me, you are My Lord. I'll leave out the Master bit, if it helps. You can let me use the sink first in the morning, if that will elevate my status in your mind. You can do your best not to break any more of my bones. But I'll be married to you for a very long time, and I will be very happy a full step behind you, at your side. I'll hold your hand when we're killing Minerva McGonagall. And we'll be very good partners, just like that."

He was overcome with affection for her then, and he leaned down from where he sat to kiss her. Bellatrix opened her mouth at once, letting him in and moaning softly when he grazed his tongue around. He peeled back the blankets and crawled into the bed beside her, not bothering to take off his robes. He didn't need to be naked tonight. Tonight he meant to please her and her alone, to show her that he worshipped her body just like she worshipped his.

An hour later, she was wrapped up in his arms, fast asleep with her injured left wrist lying on the mattress. He'd used his mouth and his fingers and his wand on her, making her come again and again until she'd cried out for mercy. Just before she'd drifted off to sleep, he'd apologised again and reminded her that he did love her, very much indeed. She hadn't answered, but even now he could sense that she was comfortable in his arms.

She was right. She was almost always right, a fact that frustrated Voldemort to no end. She was right about calling him My Lord. She was right about simply readjusting their plan for Hogwarts. She was right about the impossibility of them ever really being equals. She was infuriatingly right about almost everything. But as Voldemort felt himself drifting off, having stripped off his robes an hour earlier, he thought he was very grateful for Bellatrix. These were times that required careful hands and ruthless spells and cunning minds. He needed Bellatrix.

Noha had been right, too, to tell Voldemort not to hurt Bellatrix anymore. She didn't deserve it. She was too beautiful, too intelligent, too loyal to be broken by her husband. Voldemort carefully put one hand over the brace on Bellatrix's wrist and whispered into the night,

"Delicate, powerful, beautiful, terrifying little thing."

He kissed her hair and shut his eyes, and this time he didn't dream about losing her.

* * *

**Number Six, St Albans Grove, London**

**10 June 1971**

"Four more hours." Voldemort glanced up to the clock on the wall and drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. He tipped his head back and murmured, "Distract me, Bella."

She smirked a little to herself, spinning her wand in her fingers as she leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She was just as nervous as he was. Neither of them could eat or rest or do anything else. The plan was set. Now they just had to wait until it was the middle of the night, until the Hogwarts students would be asleep and McGonagall would be on patrol.

"How shall I distract you, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort huffed out a breath and suggested,

"Talk to me about something. Anything."

Bellatrix scratched at her curls and said the first thing that came to her mind. "Do you remember the first time you ever kissed me? At my family's Christmas party?"

Voldemort lowered his face and cocked up an eyebrow. "I remember. Why?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Why did you want to do it? What made you want to kiss me?"

"You were beautiful," he answered simply. "And I'd already become rather attached to you through the journals."

"Do you ever miss them?" Bellatrix asked. "The journals? We used them every day for a long time."

"Why would I miss being so far from you?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm, and she asked quietly,

"Did I seem like an annoying little child to you then? I'd only just turned seventeen."

"You seemed young. Much younger than you seem now," he admitted. "But you hadn't any experience with battle or anything… real."

"And yet you wanted to kiss me," Bellatrix nodded. "Ten years from now, will I be too old to be beautiful?"

Voldemort snorted a laugh and shook his head. "Ten years from now, you won't have hit thirty. I have a sneaking suspicion you'll still be very beautiful. And, anyway, it isn't as though I possess some kink for teenaged girls, Bellatrix. I fell in love with you and you happened to be young. Not the other way round."

"Oh." Bellatrix realised that was true for her, too. He just happened to be twenty-five years older than her. That wasn't why she loved him.

"Let's talk about something else," Voldemort suggested, tipping his head back again and shutting his eyes. "Talk to me about… Hogwarts."

"Well," Bellatrix began, feeling more nervous than ever, "We're going to Apparate into the seventh-floor corridor, Disillusion ourselves immediately, and begin with Flitwick. Then we'll -"

"No. Not about tonight." Voldemort sighed and rolled his shoulders a little. "I meant… tell me what it was like for you."

"I don't understand the question, My Lord," Bellatrix said helplessly. Voldemort lowered his gaze to her and said,

"I'll begin, then. When I was in school, I began researching my heritage. I learnt I was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. You didn't know that about me, did you?"

Bellatrix felt her stomach twist as she shook her head. "No, My Lord," she said. "I did not know that."

His dark eyes went steely. "Hm. Well. It's true. In my fifth year, I discovered an underground chamber created by Slytherin. I could open its passage with the use of Parseltongue… owing to my bloodline as Slytherin's heir. Inside the chamber, there dwells an enormous, ancient creature. A monster. A basilisk."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she sat up straighter in her chair. She'd read about basilisks, about their uncontrollable nature and their deadly gazes. She gulped hard, knowing her master hadn't actually cared about her own time at Hogwarts. He'd been keeping something from her, and he'd chosen now as the moment to reveal it. She waited patiently for him to speak again. When he did, he said calmly,

"The basilisk was put there by Slytherin to purge Hogwarts of Muggle-born students. But it waited and waited, and nobody ever set it loose. Until me."

"You set it loose," Bellatrix said in a cracked voice. The parlour suddenly felt very hot and small. Voldemort shrugged a little and admitted,

"It wasn't quite so simple as that. It obeyed me, of course. Many students were killed. They were going to close the school. Owing to my… unfortunate personal circumstances, a closed Hogwarts would mean my languishing in a Muggle orphanage. I couldn't abide that, so I blamed the attacks on an acromantula being kept by Rubeus Hagrid. It was easy enough; he was a blubbering fool and Armando Dippet bought the story hook, line, and sinker. They even gave me an award for Special Services to the School. And Hogwarts stayed open, even once the Chamber of Secrets was closed."

Bellatrix suddenly understood. Everything made sense now. "We're not going to Apparate to Flitwick's quarters."

"No." Voldemort's gaze was hard and cold. "I needed to wait until I could be certain that my followers' children would not be at risk. I needed to be certain that this plan would… would turn out correctly. It's still an enormous risk."

"You're going to open the Chamber of Secrets," Bellatrix said, feeling very numb. "You're going to instruct the basilisk to… what? To kill Minerva McGonagall?"

"Her first, yes," Voldemort nodded. "And then the Muggle-borns. Just like Salazar Slytherin intended."

Bellatrix felt dizzy. She folded her hands tightly in her lap. "That's one way to conquer Hogwarts. I suppose you won't be needing me to come with you."

"You're coming with me," Voldemort said sharply. "I know you understand why I couldn't operate on assumptions with this. It's dangerous."

"Won't it try to kill me?" Bellatrix asked, her voice a little shrill to her own ears, but Voldemort shook his head firmly.

"It obeys me. You'll be fine. There's one very significant reason I need you with me."

"What's that, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort swallowed hard as he said,

"Myrtle Warren."

Bellatrix frowned. "Myrtle Warren… you mean… Moaning Myrtle? The ghost?"

Voldemort sucked his teeth. "She's a girl that I… well, let's be frank, shall we? I killed her, and when I did, I made a Horcrux. She allegedly haunts the first floor bathroom."

"That's right," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort pinched his lips.

"Rather inconveniently, thanks to centuries of renovations on the castle, that is where the entrance is to the Chamber of Secrets. I'll need you to distract Myrtle long enough for me to open the Chamber without her shrieking through the corridors and waking the staff."

Bellatrix had no idea what to say. They'd had a plan. Then they'd had to make a new plan. This was neither of those plans. This seemed… insane. Bellatrix chewed her lip hard and said,

"I could go in there crying, pretending a boy hurt my feelings. I'm only a year out of school. She wouldn't know the difference if I went in my Slytherin robes."

"You still have them?" Voldemort asked tightly, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Shall I go put them on, Master?"

"Yes," he said. He licked his bottom lip and said, "We'll go as soon as you're dressed. I am sorry to spring this on you, Bella. Until ten minutes ago, I still wasn't entirely convinced that we shouldn't just… you know, march around killing the offending teachers. But this will be better."

Bellatrix rose from her chair and said, "It'll certainly be more dramatic. I'll go get dressed."

* * *

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**10 June 1971**

"Why are you crying?" asked the morose voice of Myrtle Warren. Voldemort waited in silence, very effectively Disillusioned, trying not to smirk at the way Bellatrix had huddled into a corner and was feigning her sobs.

"This boy," Bellatrix said dejectedly. "He told me I needed to smile, that I was stupid and ugly. It hurts, you know, to be called ugly."

"Oh, I know it does," said Myrtle ominously. "It hurts very, very badly. What are you called?"

"Bella," sniffed Bellatrix. "And I know you. You're Myrtle. But I mustn't stay; it's past curfew."

"I know the perfect spot to cry about boys," Myrtle said gleefully, and Bellatrix raised her face and swiped at her false tears.

"You do?"

"Yes! The library!" exclaimed Myrtle. "I like to sit at the tables and think about romance novels, about the kind-hearted boys in them and the awful boys in the real world. Let's go."

"All right, then," Bellatrix sniffed, rising from where she crouched. "How will we keep from getting caught?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Myrtle giggled. "I'm very sneaky."

The two of them left the first-floor bathroom then, and Voldemort's heart accelerated in his chest. He'd see her back at the house, he reminded himself. They'd agreed that fifteen minutes after she got Myrtle from the bathroom, she'd go home. Now Voldemort had his own work to do.

He turned to the bank of sinks and touched the tap that was shaped like a snake. He hadn't been here in decades, but somehow it felt like only yesterday. He'd been a boy then. He'd been Tom Riddle. He was someone else now.

" _Hesha-Hassa…"_  he hissed, commanding the Chamber to open. He watched in wonder as the sinks trembled and slid across the stone floor, sending dust everywhere as they did. Once the sink with the serpent tap had descended down, a wide tunnel was revealed. Voldemort knew he did not have time to go into the actual Chamber tonight. He would have to call his servant from here. He raised his voice, not shouting, but speaking with a deliberate hiss he knew the basilisk would discern.

_"Haianash abet kass emeth… Koashaa amassinet shassa… Haianash shoanasha kess… Barathassa kanash emeth palassanesh..."_

He'd commanded the basilisk to first kill McGonagall - the 'witch in the tower.' He'd instructed it to leave its master's wife alone if it encountered her. And then, Voldemort had said, it should target the Muggle-borns.

" _Soanath haianash abet Kass emeth_ ," he repeated, shutting his eyes and willing the creature up from the depths. " _Koashaa amassinet shassa soanath. Maktathessa shoanasha kess barathassa emeth pakalasha thess…_ "

Suddenly there was a strange sound, like stone against metal, and Voldemort took a few steps back. He kept himself composed, somehow, when the basilisk emerged up, just barely fitting through the piping that led to the Chamber. He looked away, unwilling to risk the basilisk's deadly gaze. He thought himself immune, but it was hubris to test the theory. He'd warned Bellatrix not to look at the basilisk if it found her before she left the school.

" _Thoah shassinet_ ," Voldemort hissed, greeting his old friend. He nodded, silently willing the past basilisk to obey the orders it had been given. Its terrible body slithered with remarkable grace through the bathroom, past the door that Voldemort flung open with a flick of his wand. He followed the basilisk out into the corridor, watching as it made its way toward the stairs that led to the Headmaster's Tower.

He needed to leave, Voldemort thought. The basilisk would do his bidding. He had no doubt whatsoever about that. There would be chaos at the school. There would be casualties. Even if McGonagall somehow managed to survive, the fallout would lead to massive public outcry. The school would not be closed; Voldemort would not allow it. Instead, it would be clean and new again.

Just like Salazar Slytherin had intended.

Voldemort Disapparated quickly from the corridor, touching at his enchanted tie bar that allowed him to circumvent the anti-Apparition charms on the school. When he came to in the foyer of his house, Bellatrix was not yet there. Voldemort paced anxiously in the foyer, ripping back the sleeve of his robe and rubbing at his Dark Mark. It was a way of Summoning her, to be certain, but more than anything it calmed his frayed nerves.

A few moments later, Bellatrix appeared in a whirl of black and green and flesh. She landed on her feet, looked dizzy for a moment, and then straightened her Slytherin robes.

"Myrtle seemed offended that I left in such a hurry," Bellatrix said simply, though her eyes flashed. Voldemort shrugged.

"I never much cared about what that girl thought. You did well getting her out of the bathroom for me. The basilisk came at once. When I last saw it, it was headed for the Headmaster's Tower."

"Now what?" Bellatrix asked, looking like she might be sick from anxiety. Voldemort gulped.

"Now we wait. There will be furious owls going to and from the school. Cries for the Ministry to take action. Funerals, which have better optics than just about anything else. There's nothing else to do but wait."

"I wish… I wish I'd been able to see her die," Bellatrix admitted. "McGonagall. But somehow it's even more entrancing to know that you've set a monster on the school, a monster only you can control. I find myself… rather…"

She trailed off then, stepping up to Voldemort and throwing her arms up around his shoulders. He seized her face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth, and he whispered against her mouth,

"Thank you for your valuable assistance… My Lady."

She moaned then, and Voldemort knew they wouldn't make it all the way to the bedroom. He started peeling off her Slytherin robes, one piece at a time, reckoning that the wall of the foyer was as good a place as any to plunder her.

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**11 June 1971**

"Still can't sleep?" Bellatrix asked, for Lord Voldemort was very restless in the bed beside her.

"No," he snapped. "How am I meant to sleep right now? Three hours ago I set Slytherin's basilisk upon Hogwarts. Can you imagine what's happening there right now? No, I can not sleep."

Bellatrix sighed a little and turned to face him. "We'll both need Invigoration Draught in the morning," she predicted. "I'm sure things will be busy for a while."

"Well, right now it's two in the morning and, no, I can not sleep." Voldemort put the back of his wrist to his forehead and stared at the ceiling for a moment. He was quiet for a little while, and then he murmured, "Let me take you again."

Bellatrix smirked. Almost as soon as they'd come back from Hogwarts, they'd made love (fucked, really) against the wall downstairs. Bellatrix had been hot-blooded after seeing the unmitigated power her husband possessed. And, if she was honest with herself, she wanted him now, too. She edged closer to him and reached beneath the blankets. He was already hard, and she gasped a little when she felt that. She pushed down his pyjama trousers a little and started to stroke at him carefully. Voldemort peeled the blankets back so he could watch, pushing his hips up into Bellatrix's hand as he warned her,

"Careful. I'm not going to last. I can tell."

"Mmm… but I want you inside of me," Bellatrix said, her voice a low hum as she bent down to kiss the tip of his cock. He hissed and his fingers clenched on the sheets. Bellatrix smiled to herself, licking at his tip and then dipping her head over hip until he hit the back of her throat.

"For Merlin's sake, Bellatrix," he seethed through clenched teeth, "You have about twenty seconds. I've been hard for a half hour."

"Mmph." Bellatrix bobbed her head up and down a little more insistently, feeling his fingers snag in her curls as he frantically whispered a Dulcisspell to make his seed taste better for her. When he came, she drank it down, and it was like sugar water in her mouth. She moaned onto his flesh, her own hands having found his hips so she could hold fast to him there. When she pulled her mouth off him at last, he started to go soft, and he tipped his head as he stroked her hair.

"I thought you wanted me inside of you," he said, and Bellatrix licked the last bit of his fluids from her lip as she pointed out.

"You were inside me. Inside my mouth."

Voldemort snorted a laugh at that, and Bellatrix lay her head on his thighs as she marveled aloud, "I still can't quite believe that all this time, there's been a monster living inside the castle… a monster only you could control. It seems very fitting."

"Fitting," he repeated, still sounding a little breathless. "Fitting how?"

"Because," she mused, her fingers drifting along the outside of his leg, "It's exceptional. You're exceptional. It seems good and right that the way you take Hogwarts, that the way you eliminate that last bastion of resistance, is through a method no one else can use. There are so many things that only you can do."

"Bella…" His voice was a bit of a cracked whisper, and his hand settled between her shoulder blades for a moment. Bellatrix's eyes were heavy, so she let them fall shut. He might be too energised to sleep, but she was rather exhausted. She had only had her eyes closed for a few moments, though, when she heard his voice whisper, "Now you can have me inside of you."

Bellatrix frowned with confusion as she opened her eyes. Her confusion deepened when she saw that he was hard again. She sat up, raising her eyebrows as she glanced at the clock. Three minutes since he'd finished last. That wasn't possible, was it? She gave him a sceptical look and demanded,

"Did you take Girding Potion or something?"

"No," Voldemort said tightly, and she could tell he was being honest. "It feels better than usual tonight to come. I don't know. My body does not want to sleep. My body wants you. So get on your hands and knees, will you?"

Bellatrix felt a sudden shock of arousal go through her. She peeled off her nightgown and arranged herself on her hands and knees, self-conscious as she always was like this. She felt like a piece of livestock being presented… or, at least, she felt that way until she heard her master groan with desire from behind her. His fingers started to dance against her folds, and Bellatrix was breathless as she heard him observe,

"Already so, so wet for me. You sweet little thing."

His fingers glided easily around Bellatrix's entrance, and when he pushed himself into her body, she was more than ready. Her curls tumbled down around her face as she was rocked back and forth by his thrusting. She knew he wouldn't finish again. There was no way; it was impossible so soon after the last time and the time downstairs just a few hours earlier. He was powerful beyond measure, but he was still forty-four years old. Surely he couldn't -

"Bella… Bella," she heard him say through gritted teeth, his breath huffing the way it always did when he was close. Bellatrix turned to stare at him over her shoulder, amazed by the way his arms had gone tight as he held her hips. His face tipped back, his eyes wrenching shut and a low groan escaping his lips. Bellatrix was wide-eyed as he pulled himself from her and dragged her fingers around her folds again. This time, she was soaked with his seed, a fact that seemed to arouse him more than ever.

"So pretty when I've filled you up like this," he whispered, and Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot at the explicit idea. Still, his fingers felt good on her, and the mental image of his hand covered in his own come as he stroked her was too much. When he pulsed his fingertips on her nub a few times, Bellatrix let her head fall back down, and then everything went white and hot. Her ears rang and she saw spots, clenching around his fingers as he shoved them inside of her to feel it happen.

"Bella, I can't stop," he said suddenly, and when Bellatrix turned to look at him again, he actually looked a little frightened. He pulled his hand from her and licked his bottom lip. "Get on your back."

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, shaking her head in confusion. She turned around to sit, leaning against the pillows as she stared at him. She'd felt him go limp just before he'd pulled out of her, but even as she watched now, his slick cock was firming up again. Bellatrix furrowed her brows and demanded, "Are you all right? Is something wrong with you?"

"I don't know," he panted, pushing Bellatrix's shoulders down. He hovered above her and used his knee to part her thighs. He guided himself into her, moving much more slowly this time. His hips cycled in a gentle, easy, rhythm. Bellatrix held onto his arms and gazed up at his face, concerned that something had happened to make his body behave to unnaturally. Perhaps he was just drunk with power, with adrenaline, but this seemed impossible.

"Sorry," he whispered quietly, shutting his eyes as he continued to cycle his hips. He sounded baffled as he said again, "I can't stop."

"My Lord." Bellatrix put her hands on his hips and squeezed until his motions stilled. He opened his eyes and looked down to her, and she said firmly, "Please do not misinterpret what I say to mean that I do not desire you. I do. Very much. Always. But… three times in ten minutes? And downstairs, too? You should probably stop."

"No." Voldemort shook his head and started pumping his hips again. "No. It feels good."

"Well, of course it does," Bellatrix whispered desperately, reaching for his face and pleading with him, "Stop. Please. This can't be normal. It's just the rush from earlier, I'm sure, but…"

Finally he wrenched himself out of her and sat back on his haunches, and Bellatrix watched as he wrapped his own hand around his shaft. His hand pumped very quickly, since he was covered in all manner of natural lubrication. It only took a moment or two, and then his seed was shooting up in volleys and landing all over his hand. It seemed like so much more than usual, Bellatrix thought, especially considering it was the fourth time tonight.

She reached for her wand on the table beside the bed and aimed it at his lap and hands. "Tergeo," she murmured, casting the same spell between her own legs. She repeated the process with Scourgify, including on her own mouth, until they were both naked but clean. She set her wand down with a shaking hand and saw that Voldemort had his eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Put on your nightgown and hand me my wand," he said, his voice dangerous. Bellatrix hurried to slink back into her pyjamas, feeling more than a little frightened as she reached for the thin, knobby wand Voldemort had taken off of Dumbledore. She put it into Voldemort's right hand, and, without opening his eyes, he aimed it at his own manhood and mumbled, " _Delenio._ "

The newly burgeoning erection that had started up seemed to fade at once, and after a long moment, Voldemort opened his eyes and flashed Bellatrix a completely mirthless smile. His eyes were cold as he noted,

"That particular spell is especially popular with thirteen-year-old boys who find themselves suddenly erect in the middle of lessons. But I am not a thirteen-year-old boy. I am a grown man. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. I must've… seemed like an animal."

"No, My Lord." Bellatrix shook her head. "You seemed - seem - like an unfathomably powerful wizard who, just a few hours ago, achieved something no one else can. You seem like a man whose authority runs deep and will soon be unquestioned. Your magic is beyond comprehension; it's small wonder so much energy manifested inside you like that."

"Hmm." Voldemort nodded and reached for his pyjama trousers. "You're right, probably. Like usual. And you're a good woman for obliging me. I'm still not going to be able to sleep."

Bellatrix nodded and tried to stifle the grin that wanted to paint itself on her face. "In a few hours, we'll take Invigoration Draught before you call the inevitable meeting at Malfoy Manor. In the meantime… I am very bad at Wizard's Chess. Shall we play?"

Voldemort actually laughed under his breath at that, and he nodded as his dark eyes found Bellatrix's. "Yes. Let's go play."

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**13 June 1971**

"Good afternoon," said Lord Voldemort with a mischievous smirk. A little ripple of joy made its way around the dining room table, with murmurs of Good afternoon, My Lord and Hello, Master emanating from the mouths of his closest followers. Voldemort picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet from the table, brandishing it like a trophy as he read the headline aloud. "CHAOS AT HOGWARTS - CASUALTIES REPORTED - STUDENTS SENT HOME. Abraxas… where is your son Lucius right now?"

Abraxas Malfoy sat up straighter in his chair. "He is here, My Lord. Here at Malfoy Manor. Cerda picked him up from King's Cross earlier this morning."

"Ah. So he is safe, then," Voldemort nodded. He turned his attention to Cygnus Black III, to his father-in-law, and he asked, "Where is Narcissa?"

"She is, I believe, at home in London, Master," said Cygnus. "Druella fetched her from the train a few hours ago."

Voldemort smirked. "So our own beloved children are very well. And Hogwarts will not be closing, because, my friends, just last night I went to the school myself to neutralise the threat. That threat, it should be noted, is a creature that was under my control all the while."

Murmurs of wonder made their way around the table, and Voldemort curled up his lips as he instructed Yaxley,

"Name the dead."

Yaxley nodded. "Rubeus Hagrid. Filius Flitwick. Pomona Sprout. Horace Slughorn. Minerva McGonagall. And seven Mudblood students."

"Wonderful," Voldemort nodded. "And we have loyal witches and wizards to take the places of those staff members in the autumn, don't we? With Hadley Carrow as Headmistress."

"That is correct, My Lord," Yaxley said. Voldemort breathed a happy sigh and set the Prophet down on the table. He turned his eyes to Bellatrix for a moment, studying the awe and glee on her pretty face. He could not think of a time in all his life when he'd felt more satisfied than he did just now. He picked up a stack of parchments from the table and flicked through them, saying,

"The United States of America. Germany. Japan. France. Belgium. Canada. Brazil. Norway. Australia. All of those Ministers for Magic have pledged to maintain and enhance diplomatic relations with the British Ministry, as headed by Abraxas Malfoy and under the authority of Lord Voldemort. My friends, our world is our own now."

Everyone at the table applauded then, and Voldemort saw Bellatrix swipe a few joyful tears from her eyes. Voldemort sighed and folded his hands on the table, waiting for quiet again. Once he had it, he said,

"I want a Muggle-born registration programme established immediately; we'll seize their wands. Bellatrix will be responsible for the interrogation and execution of appropriate Mudbloods. Hogwarts, when it reopens in the autumn, is for purebloods and half-bloods only. Hadley Carrow, ensure that is the case. Marriages and procreation between half-bloods and among pureblood families is to be rewarded with monetary incentive. Cygnus, you'll see to that. Yaxley, I want you to quash any hint of dissent. Fill Azkaban until it overflows. We've taken our prize; now we enhance it. Any questions?"

There was a contented silence then, until Rodolphus Lestrange raised his hand tentatively. Voldemort raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"My Lord," Rodolphus began, "As Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, I know that many of our Mudblood athletes travel internationally. If they choose to defect…?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Let them flee, if they want to flee. That's no skin off our backs. Anyone else? No? All right, then. Dismissed."

He stood, and everyone else rose respectfully with him. Voldemort walked briskly from the dining-room, thinking he'd never held such a triumphant meeting before. This, he thought, was exactly what he'd dreamed of when he'd been young and ambitious. This was what he'd always wanted. He was almost to his office when he heard Bellatrix's voice from behind him.

"My Lord… have you got a quick moment?"

He turned round to see her trotting after him, and he turned up half his mouth as he said, "For you, Bella, I have all the time in the world. Come inside."

He flicked his wand to unlock the door to his office, holding it open for Bellatrix to walk inside. He shut the door behind himself and started kissing her at once, victory flowing through his veins like a drug. She kissed him back, moaning a little, but then she pulled away and whispered,

"I have something to tell you."

"If it's not good news, I'm not interested," Voldemort declared, but Bellatrix laughed a little and put her hands to his chest.

"Tudor Yaxley told me just before the meeting that Ophelia's had the twins. They took them overnight, early to ensure they were good and healthy. A boy and a girl."

"Oh. That's good news, I suppose." Voldemort shrugged. He honestly did not much care about anyone's babies, but he asked, "What have they called them?"

"Victor and Joy. Because of the timing of their birth," Bellatrix said, grinning. Voldemort tucked her curls behind her ear and nodded.

"I suppose you'll want to visit Ophelia once she's well enough to receive you."

Bellatrix winced a little. "Babies make me nervous," she admitted. "Still, it's a happy time. But I don't want one."

"A baby?" Voldemort snorted a laugh. "Good. I don't want one, either."

He kissed her again, feeling her melt against him as he pulled her close. There was a sudden knock on the office door, and Voldemort swore under his breath as he stepped away from Bellatrix. He gave himself a moment to recover, wiping at his lips and ensuring that his cheeks weren't flushed hot anymore. Finally he walked to the door, unlocked it by hand, and pulled it open. He was surprised to see Ian Rosier, Bellatrix's maternal uncle, standing there with Quentin Travers.

"My Lord," Travers said nervously, "I wonder if Ian and I might have a moment of your time."

"Certainly. Come in." Voldemort stepped aside, and once the two wizards walked into his office, they froze. Ian Rosier bowed his head to his niece and said respectfully,

"My Lady, we did not mean to interrupt -"

"You're not interrupting anything," Voldemort insisted. "Stay, Bella. Now, Rosier… Travers… what is it you need?"

He wanted them to understand that Bellatrix was privy to any information they might present him. Still, her uncle looked uncomfortable as he said,

"Well, My Lord, it's just that you've stated that any marriages involving Death Eaters must have your personal approval."

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest. "I did say that. Who intends on getting married?"

"Me, My Lord," said Travers, and Voldemort frowned. He let Travers continue. "I would like your permission to marry Miranda Rosier."

"Your daughter," Voldemort guessed, glancing to Ian Rosier. The wizard nodded, and Bellatrix shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Voldemort turned to her and asked,

"How old is your cousin Miranda?"

Bellatrix pursed her lips. "She's sixteen, My Lord."

"Very nearly seventeen, Master," Ian Rosier pointed out. "She'll be coming of age in early August, and we would have the wedding after that point."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "She still has two years left of schooling?"

"That's right, My Lord," Rosier nodded, "but both families would prefer -"

"This has nothing to do with a financial incentive for Pureblood marriages, then?" Voldemort snapped, suddenly suspicious.

"N-no, of course not, My Lord." Travers sounded mildly scandalised. "I care very deeply for Miranda."

"How old are you, Travers?" Voldemort demanded, and Travers hesitated for a moment before he admitted,

"Fifty-one, My Lord."

"Fifty-one. And you'd like to marry a girl thirty-five years your junior." Voldemort saw Bellatrix playing anxiously with the braid she had hanging heavily around one shoulder, and he didn't need to read anyone's minds to know the source of the common anxiety. Hypocrisy. Voldemort was in his forties; everyone knew that. He'd married Bellatrix before the end of her seventh year of school. Indeed, she'd not finished school because of him. So he was a hypocrite to be interrogating Travers about long-term bachelorhood or an age difference. But something felt off.

"What does Miss Rosier have to say about all of this?" he asked finally, and Ian Rosier said delicately,

"Miranda has agreed to the marriage."

"She's agreed," Voldemort repeated. "But does she want to be bedded constantly by a man older than her father? She has to want such a thing, Rosier."

Rosier winced visibly at the idea of his daughter sleeping with Travers, and Travers took a half step away from Rosier. Voldemort pinched his lips tightly and said,

"Bring Miranda Rosier here. Immediately. Bella, you'll be in the room. I intend to talk to the girl before I give approval on this."

"Yes, My Lord," Rosier nodded. "I'll go home at once and fetch her."

"Go." Voldemort flicked his hand toward the door. "I shall be in touch with you both regarding the matter."

Once they'd gone, Voldemort sighed and leaned back against the wall, more than a little irritated that his followers had so dampened his mood. Bellatrix paced a little and said,

"Last I'd heard, Miranda had a half-blood boyfriend at school. This sounds very arranged. And it's not to say, of course, that a seventeen-year-old girl couldn't fall in love with a much older man. I mean…" She gestured between herself and Voldemort to make her point, and he tipped his head as he rolled his eyes. Bellatrix continued, "It's just that Miranda doesn't seem like the type to go head over heels for a man like Travers. Aside from him being plump and dough-faced, he's dull as a brick."

"He is that," Voldemort nodded. He and Bellatrix had a glass of wine each and talked for a while, waiting for her uncle to bring her cousin back. They talked about Hogwarts, about the meeting, and finally Bellatrix asked pointedly,

"Do you have any idea why it is that… that your body was so out of control the other night?"

"Out of control?" Voldemort repeated. He scoffed and set his glass of wine down on his desk. "The absence of a refractory period is not out of control. I was just on a high from releasing the basilisk, I think."

"You think," Bellatrix nodded, and she seemed nervous as she dragged her finger around the rim of her glass. "I just worry, that's all."

"Worry about what?" Voldemort demanded. Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and shrugged.

"Sometimes it seems like your magic runs away from you. I know it's because you're so powerful."

"Are you afraid of my sex drive, Bellatrix?" Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow, and she huffed frustratedly.

"No. I'm afraid you'll get hurt. I don't know how to articulate it. It doesn't matter, probably. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Voldemort opened his mouth to answer her, but then there was another knock on the door, and he quickly Vanished their glasses of wine before he barked,

"Enter."

The door opened, and Ian Rosier came walking inside, trailed by a tall, thin young woman with Bellatrix's black curls and Narcissa's soft facial features. She looked utterly terrified as Ian Rosier said,

"My Lord, this is my daughter Miranda."

"Hello, sir," Miranda Rosier said, sounding meek as a mouse. She turned her eyes to Bellatrix and gave her a little smile. "Hello, Bell - erm, My Lady."

Her father had warned her not to call her cousin by her name, Voldemort noted. He thought that was very interesting indeed. He gestured to the chair beside Bellatrix and said,

"Please sit, Miss Rosier. Ian, you may wait in the corridor outside."

"Yes, My Lord." Rosier turned to go, carefully shutting the door behind him. Miranda sat beside Bellatrix, and they looked so closely related that Voldemort thought they could have been sisters. Miranda was much taller and plainer in her face, but the family resemblance was certain. Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and cut right to the chase.

"Miss Rosier, what are your feelings about marrying Quentin Travers?"

Miranda hesitated just a moment too long before she said, in what seemed like a rehearsed tone, "It will be a great honour, My Lord, to marry a man of such noble heritage and to produce Pureblood children with him."

"Hmm. Is that so." Voldemort flicked his eyes to Bellatrix, who shook her head minutely. Voldemort said to Miranda, "I'm going to use Legilimency to look into your mind. Simply let it happen; you'll experience less dizziness and nausea that way. Sit still, please.  _Legilimens._ "

Her mind cracked wide open, and inside Voldemort found all manner of childish drivel. Concerns about acne and exam marks. Jealousy about another girl who'd flirted with Miranda's Hufflepuff boyfriend, a young man called Peter. Then Voldemort found images of Ian Rosier informing his daughter that she was to marry a fifty-one-year-old man. He saw Miranda sobbing, shaking with anxiety. He sensed that she was repulsed by Travers' age, that she found him disagreeable and ugly. He sensed that she was madly in love with that Hufflepuff boy, Peter. She didn't want to be married any time soon, and certainly not to a man who would be grey if he weren't already bald.

Voldemort pulled out of Miranda Rosier's head, and the girl seemed very embarrassed as she knitted her fingers together in her lap. Voldemort sniffed and said lightly,

"Bellatrix, walk your cousin out the corridor and send your uncle in."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said, helping Miranda up from her chair. Voldemort heard Miranda whisper to Bellatrix, asking if she was in trouble. Bellatrix shook her head firmly and opened the door, and Voldemort heard her say,

"Uncle Ian, he'd like to speak with you." From the doorway, she turned round and asked him quietly, "Shall I wait outside?"

"Talk your cousin off the ledge," Voldemort said. "Tell her she's going back to Peter in the autumn."

Bellatrix smiled a little, though she knew full well this was not about being merciful to Miranda Rosier. As the girl's father came inside, Voldemort considered having him sit. Then he decided Ian Rosier did not deserve the comfort of a chair. He let the man stand nervously on the other side of his desk as the door shut.

"I must say, I'm disgusted," Voldemort snapped. "Whoring your own daughter out like that. I know why you're doing it, Rosier; you knew I intended on incentivising Pureblood marriages. You wanted the money. You were going to split it with Travers."

Rosier's face went scarlet, but he couldn't lie to Lord Voldemort. He visibly gulped and stammered. "My Lord, I… I…"

"If Travers wants a wife, let him find one who isn't terrified or revolted by the idea of him sticking his cock into her," Voldemort said in a clip. "As for you, you'll let poor little Miranda marry whomever she wants or no one at all. You will not take advantage of my generosity by orchestrating obscene marriages for profit. There are consequences when a man's greed interferes with the goals of my movement, you understand?"

Rosier nodded, seeming very afraid all of a sudden. "I am very sorry, My Lord."

"Get out of my office," Voldemort sneered, and Rosier turned quickly to go. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and drummed his fingers on his desk again. He would need to keep a tight leash on his closest associates, he knew. If his Death Eaters, of all people, tried to game his system for personal gain, he'd be in trouble. They all needed to understand who was in charge, who made the calls. This would be the first test of his authority over his Death Eaters, Voldemort knew, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.

And, anyway, he was no hypocrite. Miranda Rosier was a complete child, where Bellatrix was more powerful and mature than witches three decades her senior. And Quentin Travers was a tiny fraction of the wizard Voldemort was. The proposed union between Miranda Rosier and Quentin Travers was a sham and a disgrace. The marriage between Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black was… well, it was unlike anything the wizarding world had ever seen before. Voldemort himself knew that. He'd have to make it more plain to the others, he thought, that he was higher above them than they realised. And he'd have to make it plain that Bellatrix was anything but a child.


	4. Book the Fourth

**Twilfitt and Tattings, Diagon Alley, London**

**2 August 1971**

"If you'll just hold your arms up a bit, My Lady; I need a chest measurement."

Bellatrix held her arms up to her sides, and Madam Lynnen, the witch who was making the gown for her twentieth birthday party the next month, directed the measuring tape about with her wand.

"Right. Seventy-six centimetres on the bust," she said gently to the self-inking quill that was floating in the air beside her. The quill scribbled down the measurement, and then Madam Lynnen guided the measuring tape to Bellatrix's waist and said, "Fifty-three centimetres on the waist… and eighty on the hips. All right, My Lady. You can put your arms down. Thank you."

Bellatrix stood before the mirror as Madam Lynnen took her parchment behind the counter. Those measurements seemed small, Bellatrix thought, and she wondered if perhaps she wasn't eating enough. She'd always been short and thin, but even as she looked in the mirror, she thought perhaps she was looking a bit skeletal as of late. She tucked her dark curls behind her ear and noted the chalky colour of her face, and suddenly she felt very ugly.

"So, we've decided upon the black velvet with the black seed pearl decorations. Is that right?" asked Madam Lynnen, and Bellatrix nodded.

"When will it be ready?" she asked, and Madam Lynnen smiled as she said,

"No more than a week, My Lady. We can have it delivered to you, if you'd like."

"No. I'll come pick it up. Just send an owl when it's ready," Bellatrix said. She bid Madam Lynnen good day and stepped out into the blazing heat outside the shop, feeling abruptly dizzy. It was so very hot, she thought, hotter than she could remember it being in a long time. She shut her eyes and put her hand to the stone wall, thinking perhaps she hadn't been sleeping enough. For weeks on end, she'd been torturing and killing prisoners - dissenters - in a steady march to help cement her husband's power. It was working, of course, but Bellatrix was tired.

"Bella?"

She opened her eyes to see Dahlia Lestrange walking toward her, waving furiously as she trotted across the cobblestones in her high heels. Bellatrix stood up away from the wall and forced a little smile onto her face.

"Dahlia. Good to see you," she said, though she knew her voice was a bit ragged. Once Dahlia reached her, Bellatrix asked, "Have you been to see Ophelia's twins?"

"I just went last week!" Dahlia exclaimed. "Got me all excited."

There was a twinkle in Dahlia's eye then, and Bellatrix nodded with sudden realisation. "You're pregnant."

"I am!" Dahlia exclaimed, squealing with glee as she clapped her hands together. "Can you believe it? Oh… I'm so excited, Bella; I can't even…"

She trailed off then, and her cheeks coloured scarlet. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and insisted,

"You're my friend, Dahlia. Call me by my bloody name."

"Right. Sorry." Dahlia nodded and tempered her excitement as she said, "The baby's due in February. I'm just so thrilled."

"February…" Bellatrix did some quick mental maths and realised Dahlia had conceived less than a month after marrying Rabastan Lestrange. She shrugged and forced another smile. "Congratulations, Dahlia. Has Rabastan told the Dark Lord?"

"No. No, you're the first to know besides my mother and sisters," Dahlia said. "You can tell him, of course! Rabastan was going to bring it up at their next meeting. We know he's awfully busy to be bothered with news like this."

"I'll tell him," Bellatrix nodded. "He'll be happy to hear it. Listen, I hate to be rude, but… I'm not feeling very well. I think I should get going."

Dahlia frowned deeply. "Are you all right, Bella?"

"I'll be fine. I'm just tired," Bellatrix insisted, though she suddenly wondered if she would Splinch herself Disapparating right now. Once more, she forced a little grin, and she said, "See you soon, Dahlia. Congratulations."

"See you." Dahlia seemed awfully worried as Bellatrix walked away. She disappeared into a quiet alley and leaned back against the brick wall, shutting her eyes and feeling like the world was spinning around her. She took a deep, shaking breath, feeling abruptly like she would be sick on the road. Somehow she managed to take a step away from the wall and Disapparate, hoping against hope that she wouldn't leave a body part behind in Diagon Alley. She was overcome with relief when she came to, whole and unscathed, in the foyer of her house in St Alban's Grove. She grabbed quickly at the wooden bannister, trying not to fall over as she clenched her eyes shut.

"Bella?"

His voice was gentle, but Bellatrix still jolted. She raised her eyes to Voldemort and gave him an apologetic little smile. "Sorry. You startled me. Thought you were working at Malfoy Manor today."

His brows furrowed as he stepped out of the library. "Just paperwork. Nothing I couldn't do from here. Are you all right? You're white as a sheet."

"I'm all right, My Lord," Bellatrix lied, feeling like her legs were going to give out on her. "I might go lie down, if it's all the same to you."

Voldemort pursed his lips. "You've been working too hard."

"No. No. I'm perfectly fine," Bellatrix insisted. She started to climb the stairs, stopping when she grew so dizzy and nauseated that she was afraid she'd tumble right back down again.

"Bella, you're not pregnant, are you?" Voldemort asked from behind her, and Bellatrix turned round so quickly that she stumbled. He rushed forward to catch her, and he had one arm wrapped around her back as she stared up at him and shook her head.

"Of course I'm not pregnant," she whispered. Then she decided, for some reason, that the subject needed changing, and she said, "Dahlia is. Dahlia's pregnant. That didn't take long, eh?"

"I don't care one lick about Dahlia Lestrange being pregnant," Voldemort snapped. "You're ill. You need a Healer."

"No… I just need to rest a little," Bellatrix said softly, letting her eyes shut as her heartbeat became alarmingly audible in her ears. "You're probably right, My Lord. I've been doing… too much interrogating, probably…"

"Bellatrix," she heard him say, his voice shaking a little. Bellatrix tried to open her eyes but couldn't, and then she was aware of him shaking her by the shoulders as he commanded her, "Look at me, Bella."

She tried to. She felt herself being scooped up in his arms, heard him swear and huff with frustration, and then there was a pinching, whirling sensation as he took her with him by Side-Along Apparition. Then, very suddenly, before she knew what had happened, Bellatrix was asleep.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**2 August 1971**

"Enter." Voldemort glanced up to the door of the bedroom in his suite, rising from the chair where he'd been sitting. A middle-aged wizard in Healer's robes came walking in, escorted by Cerda Malfoy, who said nervously,

"My Lord, this is Healer Harvey, just come from St Mungo's."

"Thank you, Madam Malfoy. You can go," Voldemort said. Healer Harvey came into the bedroom, eyeing Bellatrix where she lay on the bed, and he said carefully,

"My Lord, the faster I can get to examining her…"

"Yes. Of course." Voldemort moved his chair away and stepped back, watching as Healer Harvey set his leather medical bag down on the bed. He opened it and began pulling out all manner of medical devices and instruments, some of which Voldemort had never seen. The Healer put what seemed like a small linen patch upon Bellatrix's forehead, and he wrapped an odd-looking thick cord around her upper arm. He took a small metal device from the bag and put it on her fingertip, and then he pulled out a wooden clipboard with a parchment upon it.

Healer Harvey pulled his wand out and touched it to the patch on Bellatrix's forehead. Voldemort's stomach twisted with unease as he watched some writing appear on the parchment on the clipboard.

"Body temperature is very elevated," Healer Harvey noted. "Forty-point-two degrees… Blood pressure is very low. Pulse is quite high. Negative for pregnancy. Negative on infection or parasites. But… wait. This can't be right."

He dragged his wand around the patch on Bellatrix's forehead again and frowned deeply at the parchment. Voldemort threw his hands up and demanded,

"What? What is it?"

Healer Harvey's lips turned down, and he turned to Voldemort. "My Lord, do you know if Madam Black has done anything… particularly taxing recently?"

"Taxing," Voldemort repeated. "You mean magically taxing?"

"Yes." Healer Harvey glanced back to Bellatrix, suddenly looking far more alarmed than Voldemort wanted to see him be.

"She… conducts interrogations," Voldemort said tightly. Then, realising this was no time for information to be classified, he clarified, "She tortures and executes prisoners."

Healer Harvey nodded. "With some regularity?"

Voldemort hesitated. "Daily, I suppose. For weeks now. It's been… intensive. Since the transfer of power."

"I understand," Healer Harvey nodded. He pursed his lips and stood from the edge of the bed. "My Lord, I'm not sure if you're familiar with the concept of Magical Capacity."

"Of course," Voldemort nodded. "It's the amount of potential within a witch or wizard to complete magical tasks. It varies from person to person and can vary over time."

"That's right, sir," Healer Harvey said. "Now, each witch and wizard possesses a body and a soul that relies on Magical Capacity for survival. It's one of the main physiological differences between us and Muggles."

"So, you're telling me that her Magical Capacity is depleted," Voldemort said. "And you think it's because… because she's been working too hard?"

Healer Harvey chewed his lip for a moment before saying cautiously, "There are few spells that deplete one's Magical Capacity as rapidly as the Cruciatus and Killing Curses, My Lord. When cast in quick succession over a long period of time… well, suffice it to say that this particular situation is not something we studied in Healer Training."

Voldemort felt anger and fear go through his veins. He glanced beyond the Healer to where Bellatrix lay still and quiet on the bed, as if she was lost in sleep. He blinked quickly and demanded,

"How do we fix her? Obviously, I'll take her out of commission for as long as need be, and seriously decrease the rate of her casting such spells. But in the immediate sense, how do we fix her? "

Healer Harvey's features sank into a look of desperate sadness. "I will prescribe her Wiggenweld Potion for now, to be administered twice daily. One dropperful each time, straight between her lips. It will help keep her brain alert; it may speed up the healing process. I can cast the appropriate spells to maintain her body's hygiene and to prevent starvation and dehydration, but -"

"Wait. Are you suggesting that you can't actually wake her up?" Voldemort breathed, and Healer Harvey looked a little frightened. He glanced back to Bellatrix and sighed.

"She'll need to wake on her own, once her Magical Capacity has been restored. I'm not sure if you're familiar with the idea of a Muggle battery recharging?"

"I know what a damned battery is," Voldemort snapped. He remembered, suddenly, seeing men outside the orphanage in London working to replace a dead battery in a Muggle automobile. He shrugged and knew he sounded helpless as he asked, "Is there nothing I could do? Can I not… give her some of my own magic? I'm not sure if you're familiar with the idea of Muggle blood transfusions."

He'd been snide and snippy, he knew, but Healer Harvey seemed to understand. The other wizard shook his head apologetically. "It does not work like that, I'm afraid," he said. "Her Magical Capacity is her own. It can only be spent through her own magical output, and can only be restored through time."

"How long will she be asleep?" Voldemort asked, and Healer Harvey repeated,

"There is no precedent for anything quite like this, My Lord. It is remarkably uncommon for any witch or wizard to output so much magic over an extended time period. Even during transitions of authority."

Voldemort knew he'd felt extreme fatigue each time he'd created a Horcrux. Bellatrix had, too, after making hers. Was it possible that her own magic had been so thoroughly bankrupted because of the work she'd been doing for him? It was true that she'd spent hours and hours on the same prisoner, torturing them into oblivion until she came home sweaty and pale. Sleep had always seemed to help. But Voldemort hadn't considered what such work might mean when done daily for weeks on end.

Was it possible he'd been killing her all this time?

If she did die, she had a Horcrux, of course. But it wouldn't be the same; even Voldemort knew that reanimating the bit of soul encapsulated in a Horcrux meant a change of body and mind that was irreversible. He wanted her, this her. He wanted the beautiful witch he'd married, the witch for whom he was planning an elaborate twentieth birthday party. He wanted his Bellatrix to just open her damned eyes.

"She will wake, won't she?" Voldemort finally asked Healer Harvey.

"I do hope so, My Lord," the Healer said, his voice strangely gentle given that he was addressing the fearsome Lord Voldemort. He was speaking as though he were informing a loved one of a death sentence, Voldemort realised. Like he was telling a witch's husband that she had an inoperable tumour and was going to die. That was how he was talking. Voldemort gulped hard and said,

"Cast the spells on her to keep her clean and fed. Leave the Wiggenweld Potion. I'd like you back here once daily to check on her."

"Of course, My Lord." Healer Harvey sat back on the bed, his wand gliding around Bellatrix's face and arms and abdomen as he cast hygienic, feeding, and hydration spells. Voldemort recognised them; they were the ones used to protect people who had been Petrified or were in comas. Once he'd finished, Healer Harvey took out a brown glass bottle from his bag. He unscrewed the lid, carefully put the glass dropper between Bellatrix's lips, and squeezed. He set the bottle on the table beside the bed, rose, and reminded Voldemort, "One dropperful twice a day, sir."

Voldemort nodded, feeling a terrible tangle of emotion that he could not quite calibrate. "Thank you, Healer Harvey," he said. "See Cerda Malfoy on your way out; she'll pay you."

"Payment is not necessary, My Lord," Healer Harvey said, but Voldemort snapped,

"You are a Healer providing medical treatment to the wife of Lord Voldemort. You will be paid. Come back tomorrow to check on her. Go."

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you." Healer Harvey made his way quickly from the bedroom, and once the door to the corridor had shut behind him, Voldemort flicked his wand a few times to lock and ward it. He pulled his chair back up beside Bellatrix, taking her cold left hand in his and studying the ring he'd given her.

He could remember it still, the feeling of anticipation between Summoning her and first seeing her in this house. He'd nervously turned her onyx-and-diamond ring over in his fingers, feeling the stones and the metal on his skin as he wondered if he'd gone insane. Now, holding her hand and staring at her unresponsive face, he whispered the same words he'd said to her that day.

"How strange it is to say words we never imagined ourselves speaking, hmm? I do love you, Bella."

Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to feel her fingers curl around his, to hear her tell him that she loved him right back. Instead he got nothing; her hand was limp in his, and her face was so still she seemed dead. He brought her fingers up to his lips and frantically kissed at her knuckles, sounding desperate to his own ears as he murmured,

"Bella, wake up. Come on, now. Wake up, little thing. Forgive me... I'm sorry I worked you so hard; I won't have you work like that ever again. Just wake up. Bella. Bella."

He was squeezing her hand, leaning over the bed and sounding almost angry now, and then something happened that he never would have thought possible.

He cried.

A single tear dropped from his face onto her knuckles, and he gasped in horror as he swiped at his eyes. His fingertips burrowed hard against his own eyes as Bellatrix's hand dropped to the mattress, and he snarled at himself,

"Stop crying, you fucking childish fool. She'll be fine. She'll be fine. Won't you, Bella?"

He clutched at the blankets on the bed and stared at her. When he got no answer, he shut his eyes and whispered into the heavy stillness of the room,

"Bellatrix, I need you to wake up. I can not do any of this without you, you understand?"

Still there was nothing, so he kept his eyes shut and took her hand in his again. He sat staring at her face, neither moving nor speaking, for so long that the sun went down and the room got dark. At some point, he used his wand to light the sconces on the walls. His eyelids got heavy, and eventually he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his outer robe, tunic, and trousers. He opened the wardrobe in the bedroom, his motions mechanical and soulless, and pulled out a pair of grey flannel pyjamas.

He stared at Bellatrix as he pulled on the trousers, remembering the last time he'd seen her in the midst of torture. She'd been going at a dissident for hours, and he was already motionless and silent on the ground. Still she paced around him, the red web of her spell locked around the man's body. Finally she broke the Cruciatus with a little flick of her wrist - she'd become such an expert in all of it - and then she killed him with a flash of green and a casually muttered Killing Curse.

That had been only four days ago. If only Voldemort had known what she'd been doing to herself after weeks of that. What he'd been doing to her by commanding her to do it.

He buttoned up his pyjama top and carefully Transfigured her black leather-and-cotton tunic and leggings into a softer, flowing nightgown. If she was going to be asleep indefinitely, she could at least look like she belonged in bed, he told himself. He peeled back the blankets and climbed into the bed beside her, staring for a while at her face as his eyes burned again.

This was a hideous sensation, he thought. Crying, or being near tears, was not something he could ever really remember doing. There had been one time when he'd been perhaps five or six years of age, when another child had stolen his one and only teddy bear. Young Tom Riddle had managed to light the other child's bed on fire in an act of revenge, and he'd been whipped mercilessly by one of the Muggle orphanage matrons for his trouble. The whipping had left bloody streaks across his calves and backside, and little Tom Riddle had very nearly cried.

Very nearly. But, as Lord Voldemort remembered, there had not actually been any tears, that day or any other day. And yet, here he was, staring at the only person he'd ever cared about, wondering if she would ever recharge herself. Like a Muggle car battery. And as he felt a damp spot on the pillow beneath his face, he made no further attempt to dry his eyes or staunch the unmitigated grief that was stabbing through him like a knife.

He loved her. He needed her. More specifically, he needed her to wake up.

He took her right hand in his, squeezing gently at her fingers as he lay on his side. He remembered the time she'd Imperiused him and commanded him to sing for her. He did it now, wondering distantly if she could hear him. He sang quietly, his own eyes finally falling shut, and when the song was over, he whispered carefully,

"Goodnight, Bella."

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**14 August 1971**

Sometimes Bellatrix just wanted to scream.

The Healer came, always sticking things on her and wrapping things around her and murmuring measurements. Bellatrix wanted to grab at him, to shriek that she was fine. Sometimes she'd feel a cold glass dropper between her lips, and then something thick and vaguely sweet would fall over her tongue. Her mind always felt clearer after that, which was both a blessing and a curse. It made her feel more alive, of course, to think clearly. It also reminded her that she was wholly trapped inside her mind, her limbs and face completely paralysed.

Every day, her husband sang to her. Sometimes she could tell he was on the bed beside her. Other times he'd sing from the bathroom, cleaning his teeth or shaving as he prepared for the onslaught of meetings that had not given way in spite of her predicament. He had such a pleasant voice, Bellatrix often thought. He sounded divine, his sea shanties and pub songs coming out in an alluring growl.

One time, he'd been lying beside her, his fingers wrapped around hers, and Bellatrix had managed to squeeze. He'd felt the sensation, his singing stopping at once as he pleaded with her to do it again. She had, but then she'd been so tired that she couldn't breathe, and suddenly the cold glass dropper was between her lips again and Voldemort was scolding her not to try moving anymore.

He'd apologised so often that Bellatrix had lost count. He was sorry for working her so hard, he always said. He was sorry that he hadn't realised sooner how draining her work for him had been. He kissed her forehead when he came and went. He told her all about his meetings, mumbling that he wasn't sure she could hear him, but he needed to tell her anyway. And all Bellatrix wanted to do was scream.

It was morning when her parents came. Bellatrix knew because the Dark Lord had shaved and cleaned his teeth and sang from the bathroom, then he'd kissed her forehead and said he'd be right back, and he was. Bellatrix could hear everyone talking when they came back into the suite.

"I do regret not allowing you to see her sooner," Voldemort was saying, "but I admit I'd hoped she'd awake by now."

"And what does the Healer have to say, My Lord?" asked Druella, sounding like she'd been crying for days.

"The fever is gone. Her blood pressure and pulse have normalised. Her body, at least, is regaining its footing. He believes her mental capacity is fully intact."

Yes! Bellatrix wanted to scream. My mental capacity is fully intact! Someone wake me up! Now!

"Have they any notion of how much longer before she wakes?" asked Narcissa fearfully, and Voldemort replied matter-of-factly,

"No. Healer Harvey thinks she will simply open her eyes one day and be able to move again. That's the hope, anyway. And, despite my best arguments, he remains unconvinced that she can hear voices around her right now."

"You have reason to believe she might hear us even now, My Lord?" Cygnus wondered aloud, and Bellatrix tried to ball her hands into fists so she could shout.

Yes, Daddy, you ignorant weasel! I can hear you just fine!

"I can tell that she can hear me," Voldemort said sharply. Then all of a sudden, Bellatrix was aware of her body being moved, of pillows being added beneath her head and back, of blankets being tucked up around her. Lord Voldemort's voice was strangely gentle as he explained, "She slips down a little sometimes; I try to make sure she stays propped up."

Then Bellatrix wanted to cry, because he loved her enough to adjust pillows around her incapacitated body, and for some reason that made her very emotional. She found herself reaching out mentally for him, calling him through the ether and trying desperately to make him listen.

"Have you used Legilimency on her, My Lord?" Cygnus asked, and Bellatrix thought that was a very good idea. But Voldemort said carefully,

"I admit I'm nervous about the effect it may have on her. Might set her healing back… no, I've not tried it. If you'd all like a few moments with her, I'll go wait in the parlour."

"Thank you, My Lord," Druella said quietly. There was the sound of a door shutting then, and Bellatrix could smell her mother's perfume. Druella's voice was very close, right beside her ear, as she said in a weepy tone, "My poor sweet girl. We've worried terribly over you. You'll wake, darling, and when you do, Cissy and you and I will all have tea together. All right? Mummy loves you."

Druella moved away then, and Bellatrix could feel that a small hand had wrapped around hers. Narcissa.

"Bella," her younger sister said carefully, "I wish this hadn't happened to you, but I know you'll come out all right in the end. We're all thinking constantly of you. I hope you can hear me and know how very concerned we are."

Then Cygnus' voice was audible, more shaky than usual but still strong and deep. "Get your strength back, Bellatrix. You're a fighter in so many ways. You're just a soldier healing up from a war wound now; you'll be -"

"Cygnus, speak gently to her!" Druella scolded, though Bellatrix much preferred the message her father had been projecting. Cygnus huffed a sigh and said tightly,

"I look forward to you being yourself again, Bellatrix. We'll see you soon."

There was a minor flurry of activity then as her family left and Voldemort bid them farewell. Finally a few more doors shut, and then she was acutely aware of him sitting in the chair beside the bed. She willed him to hear her thoughts, and rather miraculously, he murmured,

"Perhaps your father's right. Perhaps I ought to look into your head, hm? Whatever you do, Bellatrix, do not attempt Occlumency now." He sighed heavily and sounded very hesitant indeed as he whispered, " _Legilimens_."

Bellatrix shoved forth three simple words, over and over.  _I'm in here. I'm in here._

"Can you hear me?" she heard him ask, and she frantically thought an affirmative message. Yes, she could hear him. Then she thought with all her strength about loving him. She thought about marrying him in the parlour of their house, his leg just healed up from a battle. She thought about the night he'd released the basilisk, when he'd been unquenchable in taking her. She thought about drinking wine and laughing with him. She loved him. With all the power she possessed, she thought that over and over again. She loved him.

"Bellatrix," she heard him say softly, "I wish so badly that you were strong enough for me to simply Imperius you. I'd command you to wake, and then I'd feed you soup and tea until you got well again."

_DO IT!_  Bellatrix thought, pushing the thought toward him with every morsel of mental ability she had.  _Do it! Wake me up! Please. I'm fine. I love you. Wake me up. Please. Do it._

"Bella," Voldemort murmured, taking her hand and gently rubbing his thumb over hers. She felt him pull himself carefully from her mind. "Do not encourage such foolishness. Badly as I need you to wake, Imperiusing you would undoubtedly do far more harm than good. You'll wake when you're ready. When your magic is ready. Don't worry; I'll be waiting patiently."

Bellatrix knew she couldn't be patient. She thought she would wither and die if they left her like this for too much longer. But even she had to admit that she felt internally exhausted from having him inside her head. He'd been right, probably, to be wary of her father's suggestion.

"I've a meeting with Yaxley and the Lestrange brothers in a few minutes," she heard Voldemort say quietly. "Do you know, Bella, that it turns out it takes five grown wizards to accomplish what you were doing all on your own? Of course, it also turns out that you were doing entirely too much, but… still. Five of them. You're sorely missed among our ranks."

She wanted to thank him, wanted to promise him that she'd be back fighting for him soon, but of course she couldn't speak. She felt him squeeze her hand and then knew he'd pulled himself up from the chair. He murmured from the doorway that he'd be back after his meeting, and then he was gone, and Bellatrix was left alone again in the prison of her body.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**30 August 1971**

Bright. It was so bright it burned, and for a moment, Bellatrix squeezed her eyes shut again and moaned softly in pain. Finally she forced her eyes back open and stared at the ceiling. Everything was an awful blur for a long moment, until it was like a camera coming into focus. She could see the detail on the white-painted ceiling now, and when she flicked her eyes over to the window, she could see that it was morning. It was raining and grey, but she could tell from the angle of the sun that it was morning.

He was singing quietly from the bathroom - Lord Voldemort. That had been what awakened her. Somehow Bellatrix knew that she would never have opened her eyes unless he'd been singing to her. He'd told her a long time ago that he knew no lullabies, but he must have learned some since then, or else he wouldn't have been able to sing the old wizarding song "I Wonder."

Now she forced her eyes to the right and saw him standing with a towel around his waist, carefully shaving his face in front of the mirror as he sang.

_"I wonder, dear mother, why Augureys cry. I wonder, dear father, why ghosts never die."_

He finished scraping the last of the shaving cream from his face, pausing in his song to turn on the tap in the faucet and rinse off his razor. He patted at his face with a damp washcloth and started to pull a wooden comb through his cropped, greying hair. Bellatrix tried to move her fingers, finally feeling her thumb twitch and then each finger come alive one by one. She turned her face toward him, her neck so stiff that she thought it must be made of glass.

_"I wonder, dear_ brother, _if goblins feel love. I wonder, dear sister, if…"_

Suddenly he stopped singing, and Bellatrix knew he had sensed something from her. She tried to sit up and failed. She tried to speak and couldn't do that, either. But she watched as he curled his fingers around the edge of the white porcelain sink, turning his face slowly toward the bedroom. She locked her sore, tired eyes onto his and forced the corners of her mouth up. It felt awkward, almost foreign, to smile. But she did it anyway.

For what felt like an eternity, he just stared. His own eyes welled suddenly, his lips shaking visibly as he seemed to be calculating whether what he was seeing was real.

"M-My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, using all the effort she possessed to drag the breath and the sound up from her throat.

Then he moved, heaving himself away from the sink and dashing quickly into the bedroom. He climbed up onto the bed and seized Bellatrix's hands in his, staring straight into her eyes and looking for all the world as if he was trying not to cry.

"Bella," he murmured, and she made herself smile again as she whispered hoarsely,

"I'm awake."

"So you are," Voldemort nodded. His throat bobbed visibly, and he licked his bottom lip with a trembling tongue as he added, "Twenty-eight days. You've been gone from me for twenty-eight days, and I was not at all certain I'd get you back. Do you understand what happened to you?"

"Yes," Bellatrix said, trying to nod. "I could hear everything. The whole time." Her voice felt stronger now. That was probably thanks to all the preservation spells the Healer had cast on her. She swallowed, surprised by the way she was less thirsty than even a normal morning after sleep. She tried to make herself sit up more, but Voldemort carefully pressed on her shoulders to keep her reclined.

"Not until we've had the Healer look at you again," he said firmly. "I'll send for him immediately. Please, can I get dressed and go send for him, Bella? I won't leave you for long. I promise."

She frowned a little, confused by the way he was asking her permission, acting like he'd done something to personally offend her. She watched as he walked quickly to his wardrobe and began pulling on clothing, and she tried to diffuse the unfamiliar dynamic with a joke.

"At least tell me I'll get to go to my birthday party now."

Voldemort turned round from the wardrobe, his hands moving quickly and easily as he knotted a black tie around the collar of his white dress shirt. He slid on the tie bar Bellatrix had given him so long ago, and he said,

"Yes. Of course you'll be at your birthday party. You'll need to rest first, of course, and you won't be working any time soon."

Bellatrix felt her heart sink. "My Lord, I promise that as soon as I'm well enough, I'll be interrogating and executing your enemies with the same -"

"Bellatrix!" He seemed furious all of a sudden, his fist slamming shut the door of his wardrobe so roughly that Bellatrix jolted where she sat. He wrenched on his outer robe and snapped at her, "You said you understood what happened to you. Either you don't understand, or you do not care that I have spent the last twenty-eight days wracked with unimaginable fear and grief. Either way, you will obey me. This is not up for discussion, debate, or negotiation. You will not be conducting interrogations or executions any time in the foreseeable future. Do you understand me, Bellatrix?"

She nodded, the motion making her feel like a bobblehead doll. She knew why he'd been so frightened. There had been days where Healer Harvey had seemed very unclear about whether she'd ever wake at all. There had been times when Bellatrix herself had felt dead, and she could only imagine what her white, still face must have looked like to him.

She was his soldier and his servant, but before all of that, she was his wife. The last time they'd discussed such things, that was what he'd said. Bellatrix swallowed hard and nodded again.

"I'll dance with you at my birthday party," she promised him, and he nodded crisply as he fastened the clasp across his chest.

"I am very glad you're awake," he said. "I'm going to send for Healer Harvey at once."

He started toward the door, but he paused with his hand on the threshold. He stood there in silence for a moment, facing away from Bellatrix, and then he suddenly whirled around. He was beside the bed in five brisk strides, and he bent down to place kisses on Bellatrix's forehead, cheekbones, and lips. He stood and stared down at her for a moment before he said,

"I have never grieved the death of a human being. I have never feared the death of a human being. I have never felt the aching, ripping misery of grief until I thought I'd lost you. I had never experienced actual fear, not really, until the day I walked in here and you were so pale I was sure you'd died. Do you know, Bellatrix, that your breath lulled me to sleep at night? In and out, in and out. Every breath you took was a comfort to me, medicine to keep me plodding along through meetings and politics. I was a fool to degrade your soul through service to my cause, and for that I apologise. I was a fool, too, in the way I would sit beside you and cry like a child… like other children, rather, because even when I was a child, I never cried. But I have cried, Bellatrix, in the last twenty-eight days. I do not ever want to cry again. I need you to promise me that you're here now, that you won't… that I won't…"

He stopped, taking a half step back as he dragged his thumb across his bottom lip. He lowered his gaze, seeming rather ashamed as he whispered,

"I love you more I had ever thought possible, Bella. I'll be back soon."

She watched him go, and once he'd gone, she worked on getting her arms and legs moving again. It took an incredible amount of effort, but after a while, Bellatrix could feel her body coming back to her again. She became very tired, though, and lay back on the pillows after a bit. She willed herself not to shut her eyes, afraid that she'd fall back into the deep sleep that had held her captive for nearly a month.

She stared at the ceiling and silently thanked her lord and husband for singing to her, for learning lullabies. For waking her up.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**7 September 1971**

"So where does that put us?" Voldemort asked calmly, folding his hands on his desk. Yaxley and Malfoy exchanged pleased glances, and Yaxley said,

"My Lord, as it stands right now, there are no remaining dissidents. If they exist, they've gone entirely underground. We'll continue hunting them, of course, but… right this moment, wizarding Britain is fully under your control."

"Good. I like that news very much," Voldemort smirked. He turned to Abraxas Malfoy and prodded, "International Ministries are…"

"On our side, Master. Every last one except for Sweden, though they say they mean us no diplomatic ill will. They still claim that you're… erm… well, their word was dictator, My Lord, but -"

"Let them think whatever they want. They're bloody Sweden; we're not going to war with them," Voldemort sneered. "Is there anything else, gentlemen?"

"No, My Lord," Yaxley said. "Same time next week?"

"Yes, unless I Summon you before then. Thank you both for your fine work. Dismissed."

Yaxley and Malfoy stood, both bowing deeply before backing carefully out of the office. After they'd gone, Voldemort finished up a few letters. He wrote one informing the Notts of his 'profound sorrow' for the death of their distinguished and ancient patriarch. He wrote another giving Rodolphus Lestrange his emphatic permission to marry Marya Rosier. His last letter went to Antonin Dolohov, who was visiting family in Moscow and needed to be updated on a few matters. Once the letters were finished, Voldemort Summoned the Malfoys' House-Elf and ordered them sent off at once. He ordered dinner, too - steaks and mashed potato with haricots verts to be delivered quickly up to his suite.

He made his way upstairs, grateful that he could come and go so easily in Malfoy Manor. Owing to the necessary secrecy of his residence in St Alban's Grove, Voldemort had been staying at the manor ever since Bellatrix had first taken ill. He'd been entirely too nervous to have her Apparating about or to risk her being stuck at their home in need of medical attention.

Once he reached the suite, Voldemort stepped inside and warded the door shut behind him. He smiled a little when he saw that Bellatrix was pacing slowly in the parlour, a book open in her hands. She glanced up when he walked in, and he told her honestly,

"It's good to see you up and about."

Bellatrix sighed and shut her book. "I feel like a rat in a cage," she protested. "Will I be back in service soon?"

Voldemort didn't answer her. He walked straight into their bedroom and began stripping off his outer robe and his tie. He kicked off his shoes, rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, and glanced over to the doorway when Bellatrix walked in.

"Well?" she prompted, and he finally said,

"I almost lost you, Bellatrix. No, you won't be fighting in battles or casting Unforgivables any time soon. And, anyway, there's no one left to torture and kill. Yaxley's informed me that all the open dissidents are taken care of now."

"Oh." Bellatrix rapped her fingers on the doorway. "That's good news."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "You could say that like you mean it, you know. It is good news. So sorry there are no victims left over for you. Go have a seat at the table; dinner will be up in a moment."

Bellatrix left solemnly, and Voldemort wondered for a moment if he'd been too sharp with her. He'd allowed her into the Malfoys' grand library just two days before to visit with a small parade of well-wishers. Her parents, her sister, Cerda and Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy. Even Ophelia Yaxley with her insufferable mewling twins had come, and Dahlia Lestrange had sent a letter. How could she feel trapped? She was meant to be healing; he'd tried to give her room to breathe.

He walked out into the parlour and then to the dining nook, and he sat at the table opposite Bellatrix. He was just in time; the plates of food and glasses of wine appeared just as he sat. Bellatrix wordlessly cut into her steak, and Voldemort took a few bites of the meat, studying her face all the while. She seemed sullen. Resigned. Angry.

"I know what you're thinking," he said suddenly, and Bellatrix raised her eyes as she noted rather sourly,

"Well, that's probably true. You're very good at knowing what's in someone's head, My Lord."

Voldemort sawed at his steak and said in a flat tone, "You're thinking that if you can't be my soldier, then you'd like to be a mother."

Bellatrix snorted and began to giggle, and Voldemort scowled as he watched her set her knife and fork down.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," she said through the laughter, "but that isn't what I was thinking at all."

Voldemort felt his cheeks go hot, and he chewed a bit on the inside of his cheek. "Fine, then," he snapped, popping a bite of steak into his mouth. He chewed it, swallowed some wine, and demanded, "What were you thinking?"

Bellatrix sighed heavily and gave him a meaningful look. "Is there no place at all for me in your regime now? No government post, or…?"

"Government post," Voldemort repeated, scoffing with disbelief. "You want to work for the Ministry?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "I'd like to do something. Surely I'm intelligent enough to work in one department or another in some -"

"It's hardly a matter of intelligence, Bella," Voldemort said, putting his lips into a line. He took a moment then to spoon some potatoes into his mouth, and he finished his glass of wine. Then he folded his hands in his lap and said carefully, "Sometimes I find that the volume of letters I receive is a frustrating distraction. Scheduling meetings, talking with minor people about minor things… it's all quite tedious and gets in the way of greater conversations."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and smirked. "You want me to be your secretary."

Voldemort shrugged and took the last bite of his steak. "The position is yours if you want it," he told her. "If it's not work you're interested in doing, then -"

"I'll do it," Bellatrix said enthusiastically. She was very bold then, bolder than he'd ever seen her, as she insisted, "Someday I'll fight again for you, but until you're comfortable with that, I shall screen your mail and schedule your meetings and deal with the drudgery for you."

Voldemort smiled a little at her then, sipping at the wine that had refilled itself. His plates and cutlery vanished, as did Bellatrix's. He swirled his wine slowly in his glass and teased her,

"The position of Lord Voldemort's secretary is, alas, unpaid."

"I don't want money," Bellatrix shrugged, looking a bit playful. Voldemort set his wine glass down and pointed out,

"The benefits are awful."

"I beg to differ," Bellatrix retorted. Suddenly Voldemort felt a wave of want, a feeling he hadn't quite experienced in weeks. He licked his bottom lip and said,

"You'll be required to spend an inordinate amount of time in the office of a cranky old man."

"I'm looking forward to it," Bellatrix assured him. She rose from her chair, still a bit slow in her movements as she ambled around the table. Voldemort pushed his chair out a bit, sighing and shutting her eyes as she put a leg on either side of his hips and straddled him. Her skirt was short, so it pushed itself up and suddenly her knickers and his trousers were the only things separating them. His hands went to her waist on instinct, and he listened to the comforting hum of her voice as she touched her lips carefully to his neck.

"One time, a few weeks before I left for my seventh year at Hogwarts, you took me on the desk in your office."

"I remember," Voldemort nodded. His heart started to thud inside his chest, and the effect only got worse when Bellatrix started to grind her hips down against his. She kissed up his neck and pulled the lobe of his ear between her lips before she whispered,

"Perhaps, in between your expertly-scheduled meetings, you might find a moment here and there for your secretary. Perhaps you might make a little space on your desk."

"Bella…" His voice was full of warning, he knew, for he did not think her well enough yet for this sort of thing. But Bellatrix was more than insistent. She pulled his fingers between them, urging him to delve beneath her knickers and feel the way her satiny folds were already wet. He groaned at the sensation, and Bellatrix kissed his cheek as she said,

"When I was sleeping, sometimes you'd be holding my hand and I'd imagine you were touching me here. Between my legs."

"I'd never, ever do such a thing when you couldn't speak or move," Voldemort said firmly, and Bellatrix let out a quiet little laugh.

"Oh, I know, My Lord. But I imagined it just the same." She kissed his lips, tasting sweeter than anything in all the world had tasted. He'd not kissed her properly, square on the mouth with tongues and everything, since before she'd fallen ill. Bellatrix took her time with the kiss, languorously dragging her tongue over the roof of his mouth and making his hands tighten on her waist. She finally pulled away, grinding down against his fingers. Her perfect, full lips fell open, her eyes fluttering a little as she pushed and ground her way to proper arousal. Voldemort watched in awe as her cheeks went pale pink, then scarlet, and he circled his thumb against her nub as she moved. His erection had grown so insistent in his trousers that it was almost painful, and it took everything he had not to carry her straight to the bed and make love to her like they'd always done. Instead he just stared, taking in the sight of her as she swayed down against his hand.

"I've been cross and disrespectful," she whispered, putting her hands on his cheeks as she pushed her hips down over and over. "I'm sorry. I'm frustrated. I miss doing what I was doing. But I know it was killing me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll help you sort out your mail."

"The most important job you'll have is being the lady beside the Dark Lord," Voldemort asserted, feeling quite breathless. He gulped, feeling her body start to tighten around his hand. Her fingers clenched on his face a little, and he told her, "I care for you far too much to lose you to Mudblood prisoners, you understand? You'll fight again, once there are battles to be won. I promise you, Bella."

"All right." Bellatrix nodded quickly and delved in for another kiss, her lips shaking on his as she came. Voldemort hooked his fingers and felt her walls snapping around them, and suddenly he was quite dizzy with need. He hardly knew what was happening as Bellatrix slithered down off his lap, staring up at him from her knees as her fingers went to work on the placket of his trousers.

"What are you doing?" Voldemort demanded, and she gave him a cheeky little grin as she asked,

"With all due respect, My Lord, what does it look like I'm doing?"

He couldn't answer that question, because she'd pulled out his solid cock and got straight to work on it with her tongue and lips. She used her mouth to caress his tip, her fingers trailing up and down his shaft. He buried his fingers in her dark curls and groaned, tipping his head back against the intense sensations. Tight, wet, warm… just like the part of her he'd been craving for so long now. She knew just what to do to him, playing with the spot where his tip met his shaft. She pulled him deep into her mouth and made swallowing motions with her throat. She massaged his thighs a little as her mouth worked, and suddenly Voldemort knew he was going to lose himself. He frantically reached for his wand, knowing he didn't have the control right now for wandless magic. He'd meant to cast a Dulcis spell to make his seed taste better for her, but it was too late.

His hand tightened around his wand and his hips pushed upward of their own accord. Breath came hissing through his clenched teeth and he murmured Bellatrix's name over and over like a desperate chant. Good little thing that she was, she drank him all down, and she even had a smile on her face as she kissed his softening shaft.

"Sorry," he whispered. "That must have tasted terrible."

"No." She shook her head, staring up at him with her breath still warm on his manhood. "I like how you taste."

Voldemort shuddered, utterly overcome by her. He rose from his chair, buttoned himself up, and leaned down to help Bellatrix off the ground. She was pretending, he knew, to be stronger than she was. She wouldn't have been able to get up off her knees by herself. He tucked her hair behind her ear and told her,

"I must confess that I've missed that… that… quite a lot."

"Me using my mouth on you?" she asked with feigned innocence, and he shrugged rather self-consciously.

"Just… coming. In general."

Bellatrix gave him a confused look. "What? You never… did it yourself?"

"No." Voldemort stared at the ground and shook his head. "Thought about it once or twice in the shower, but it didn't seem like the proper thing to do with you incapacitated in our bed."

Bellatrix laced her fingers through his and said in a disarmingly gentle voice, "I'm awake now, My Lord. I'm back. And I'm going to be your secretary."

He smirked at her. "You'll start on Monday."

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**14 September, 1971**

Bellatrix scanned her eyes over the letter before her, realising quickly that it was yet another entreaty for a position at the Ministry. She put it in the pile she was mentally referring to as "Desperate Attempts to Secure Employment." She opened the next envelope, which was a letter from Spiro Flint informing the Dark Lord that his wife was expecting. Bellatrix rolled her eyes, wondering if she was the only witch left in England who was not pregnant.

_Spiro Flint and wife expecting - due in March,_  Bellatrix scribbled on the parchment beside her. She Vanished the letter, for Voldemort had told her he had no desire to keep 'rubbish lying about.' She moved on to the next envelope, breaking the wax seal and pulling out a letter from Rabastan Lestrange explaining that the first international Quidditch tournament since the transition of power would be held in Scotland in November. Bellatrix wrote down the pertinent information and then Vanished all the letters asking for employment. She rose from her chair at her little desk, taking the parchment of notes with her as she left her mahogany-lined office and walked down the corridor to Voldemort's office. She knocked firmly on the door, knowing he was between meetings, and heard him say sharply,

"Come on in, Bella."

She opened his door, for his wards were designed to grant her entry, and she flashed him a little smile as she sat in the chair opposite him at his desk.

"Just finished with the post," she said briskly. "I thought I'd brief you before your next meeting. That's with Avery, by the way, in twenty-five minutes. Anyway. Pondocus Burke has passed away at last from dragon pox; he'd been ill for almost a year and was over a hundred years of age. Let me know if you'd like flowers sent to the funeral."

"Yes, that would be good, I think." Voldemort folded his hands on his desk, and Bellatrix nodded as she underlined the word flowers on her parchment. She continued,

"Seventeen total requests for Ministry positions, only one of which is worth mentioning. Yaxley's nephew Corban is being appointed to a post in the Goblin Liaison office. Tudor Yaxley, of course, wants to avoid the appearance of nepotism and would appreciate having your official approval for the appointment."

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively and scoffed. "Nepotism. They're all related. I'll speak with Yaxley tomorrow when I see him and tell him not to fret. Anything else?"

Bellatrix nodded. "Spiro Flint and his wife will be having a baby next March, and Rabastan Lestrange is beginning to coordinate a Quidditch tournament for November that will involve teams from France, Italy, Norway, America, and Britain."

She looked up, finally meeting Voldemort's eyes, and he curled up his lips a bit as he told her,

"You're very good at this."

Bellatrix tapped her quill against her parchment and cocked up an eyebrow. "Secretarial work is not exactly -"

"You're not acting like any old secretary, and you know it," Voldemort said quietly. "You're screening out the nonsense for me, bringing me important information… you're smart enough to know which is which. You're my first and last line of defence against the madness all of this could bring. You're streamlining every single day for me. I wish for you to know that I'm exceedingly pleased with your work."

Bellatrix smirked. "Well. I appreciate that, My Lord, but I still miss the interrogations."

He nodded. "The next time there's someone to interrogate, you'll be the one to do it. One Cruciatus here and there won't kill you."

She nodded and rose. "I'll get those flowers sent over to the Burke funeral. Would you like a card to sign yourself, or should I simply send them on your behalf?"

Voldemort sighed and gave Bellatrix a meaningful look. "You sign the card."

She frowned and shook her head with confusion. "You mean… just write your name, or…"

"Sign it from Bellatrix Black and Lord Voldemort. In your script. Have you some sort of problem with doing that?"

Suddenly Bellatrix understood. She wasn't just his secretary. She was his consort. She knew enough about the concepts of monarchy, about the way that a reigning monarch behaved and the way the spouse of the monarch behaved. She knew about ceremonial tasks, delegation, and pomp among such situations.

"I'm not exactly a princess," she muttered, tapping her rugged black boot on the carpet, and he shrugged.

"I'm not exactly a king. I prefer to keep the terminology and definitions nebulous so long as everyone's clear where they stand."

"And where do I stand?" Bellatrix dared to ask. Voldemort rose from his chair, walked around his desk, and said,

"You stand right here, in front of me, working with me. Is that enough?"

She nodded and found herself whispering, "More than enough."

He kissed her then, and she carefully set her parchment on the chair so that she wouldn't forget to send flowers to the Burkes. She let Voldemort wrap his arms around her and pull her closer against him. He pushed gently on her shoulders, edging her toward the wall. Bellatrix felt her back hit the bookshelves that lined one side of his office, and she tipped her head up, desperate for breath. Voldemort seized the opportunity to move his mouth to her neck, dragging his tongue from her shoulder to her ear and whispering,

"It would relieve a good deal of stress for me to have you right now."

"Stress?" Bellatrix repeated. She played with his hair, knowing she was mussing the greying waves as she massaged his scalp. "What's got you stressed?"

"Just… you know… ruling over an entire nation of Magical people and beings. That's all," Voldemort joked. He pulled his face from her neck and looked a little breathless as he said, "I wish you'd worn a skirt today. You've got leggings on; I'll have to strip them all the way -"

"You've got Avery coming in just a few minutes, My Lord," Bellatrix reminded him, and though he looked irritated by how he'd been interrupted, he shrugged and tipped his head.

"I can be quick when I want to be. Very quick." He put his fingers to the placket of his trousers, but Bellatrix giggled and protested,

"There's no time for that! Just kiss me."

There had been a time, she knew, when he never would have let her boss him around like that. There was a time where, if she'd omitted her My Lords or her Masters, he'd have chided her for her disrespect. But now he tangled his fingers in her curls and kissed her hard, shoving her against the books. Bellatrix slid up onto the ledge and wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the insistence of his erection as he started grinding himself against the crotch of her leggings. His hands were everywhere - up her tunic, groping her breasts, squeezing her hips, and all the while Bellatrix drank him in through his kiss.

Suddenly there was the sound of timid knocking on the door, and Voldemort hissed a few choice swear words as he stumbled backward from Bellatrix.

"You said twenty-five minutes!" he whispered angrily, whipping out his wand to take down his erection and fix his hair. Bellatrix's cheeks were hot as she said,

"Either Avery's early or it's someone else. You go sit at the desk; I'll get the door."

He listened to her, quickly making his way to his desk and clearing his throat roughly as he sat. Bellatrix composed herself enough to open the office door, and she was very surprised to see Tudor Yaxley standing there, looking utterly distraught.

"Mr Yaxley," Bellatrix said. "Come in."

As Yaxley nodded his silent thanks and walked past Bellatrix, a sinking feeling of dread came over her. She cautiously asked Voldemort,

"My Lord, shall I reschedule your appointment with Avery?"

"Yes." Voldemort was staring intently at Yaxley, and Bellatrix knew he was in Yaxley's head. She nodded and dashed quickly down the corridor toward her own office. She was relieved to see Avery had already arrived at the manor and was making his way down the long corridor.

"Mr Avery," Bellatrix called, trotting toward him. He stopped and bowed his head as she approached. Bellatrix breathlessly told him, "Mr Avery, I'm afraid something very urgent has come up. The Dark Lord will need to reschedule your meeting."

"Of course," Avery nodded, looking worried. "There's no urgency on my end, My Lady. Please let me know when I'm needed."

"Thank you. I'll be in touch," Bellatrix said. As she walked away from Avery, she gasped and wrenched back the sleeve of her own tunic. Her Dark Mark was searing hot and painful and black, and she ran back toward Voldemort's office. She didn't bother knocking; he'd Summoned her directly. When she shut the door of his office behind her, Voldemort cut right to the meat of the matter.

"Bellatrix, Ophelia Yaxley is missing."

"What?" Bellatrix walked carefully toward Voldemort's desk, flicking her eyes between the visibly broken Yaxley and her own husband. "What's happened?"

"She… she left the twins with me," Yaxley said, his voice cracking. "They'd already gone down to sleep. She said she was going to her mother's house. She seemed distracted. When it got to be four in the morning and she'd not come back, I took the twins via Floo to Ophelia's parents' home. They said she'd never come."

"Is there a way to trace other Floo exits from your house?" Bellatrix demanded. "The Floo Network Authority keeps close track, don't they? Surely someone in the Ministry -"

"I've already met this morning with the Department of Magical Transportation, My Lady," Yaxley said morosely. "The record just before mine, before I went to Ophelia's parents', is impossible to discern. She may have spoken in a garbled voice, or she may have… may have…"

"Disappeared?" Bellatrix breathed. Voldemort gave her a very serious look, and Bellatrix asked him, "Is it possible someone's tampering with the Floo Network?"

"You wanted someone to interrogate?" Voldemort asked, flicking up an eyebrow and tipping his head. "Send for Delilah Carr at once."

"The director of the Floo Network Authority," Bellatrix nodded. "I'll go fetch her myself, My Lord, if you -"

"No." Voldemort shook his head. "Have the Hit Wizards bring Carr here. Once she's in the dungeons, interrogate her so we can determine if Transportation has been infiltrated."

"And if she's innocent, My Lord?" Bellatrix raised her eyes. "I'll wind up ruining her."

"Then she'll be replaced," Voldemort snapped. "You said there were seventeen requests today for Ministry positions; one of them will take Carr's. Go handle that bit, Bella. Yaxley and I will continue our own investigations. Let me know what you find out."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix started to walk quickly from the office, pausing at the doorway to say over her shoulder, "Mr Yaxley, I hope with all sincerity that we find Ophelia. Are the twins…?"

"With their grandmother. Thank you, My Lady," Yaxley said, sounding more morose than ever. Bellatrix nodded and went, determined to track down her friend.

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**14 September, 1971**

"Delilah Carr didn't know anything at all," Bellatrix huffed, ripping off one piece after another of her sweaty clothes. She was glad to be back in their house in London, though not under these circumstances.

"Is she ruined?" Voldemort asked from the doorway of the bathroom, and Bellatrix shook her head as she yanked on a nightgown.

"I barely had to Cruciate her. She started screaming that she wanted to find Ophelia, that she would help us find her. She's friends with Ophelia's older sister, you know. And then Delilah started crying out that she would do anything to serve wizarding Britain properly, and… well, anyway, I've heard lots of people under the Cruciatus Curse. People who are hiding things start saying they don't know anything. Then they tell you what they know. Then they go silent. Delilah was going on and on about wanting to help. I cut off the Curse before her mind got fried."

Voldemort nodded. "And was she angry at having been tortured?"

"No. She said she understood why we were being so thorough," Bellatrix said, casting a few nonverbal Cleansing spells on her clothes before hanging them back up. Voldemort sighed heavily and admitted,

"I looked at the Floo records myself. It almost seems like she…" He trailed off then, and Bellatrix frowned.

"Like she what, My Lord?"

His face was grave then as he said, "It almost seems like she deliberately mucked it up so that she'd vanish with the flames."

"You mean… like suicide?" Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and shook her head vigorously. "No. Not Ophelia. She loved those babies with all of her heart. She loved Tudor Yaxley. She would never… but Yaxley did say she was distracted. Is it possible that there was something wrong with her? Something that would cause her to immolate herself into the ether like that?"

Voldemort pursed his lips. "It occurred to me that perhaps she'd been Imperiused by someone. As you say, it seems remarkably uncharacteristic for her to deliberately disappear. But if someone were trying to knock down the stability of my regime, that would be a good place to start. A weak-minded witch, very susceptible to an Imperius Curse, the wife of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A new mother."

Bellatrix felt sick all of a sudden as she shook her head and insisted, "That seems too far for them. For your enemies. They don't have it in them to go after a victim like Ophelia."

"Dumbledore's gone," Voldemort reminded her. "Their guiding beacon of morality is gone. I've won. The last ones must be desperate, don't you think?"

Bellatrix shut her eyes, feeling queasy. "Will you please cancel my birthday party?"

"No," Voldemort said, and when Bellatrix opened her eyes to scowl at him, he said sharply, "Letting our world cave in around one crisis demonstrates weakness and vulnerability. Your birthday celebration will go on as planned."

Bellatrix nodded. "So what now? How do we find her?"

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Bella… I don't think there's anything to find. Listen. Yaxley's asked if you would take shifts helping to care for the twins."

"Me?" Bellatrix spat, shaking her head wildly. "No, I don't… I don't know anything about babies."

"Ophelia Selwyn's mother can not be expected to care for infant twins whilst her daughter is missing," Voldemort said sharply. "There are very few people I trust right now, and until this situation is sorted, I trust virtually no one. Only you."

Bellatrix shook her head desperately. "My Lord. Please. I do not like babies. I do not know anything about babies. I beg you, do not put me in charge of caring for -"

"You won't be 'in charge of' anything, Bellatrix. Once a day, for six hours, you and Dahlia Lestrange will go relieve Madam Selwyn. Until this situation is sorted properly. Yaxley's my head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and he's virtually useless right now. The girl's mother can hardly be expected to watch over twin babies full-time while fearing for her own daughter's life. This situation puts everything at risk for me. I need you to do this. Please."

Bellatrix stared at him for a long moment and finally asked, "Are you commanding me to do this as your secretary or as your wife?"

Voldemort squared his jaw. "I am requesting your help as the only person I actually trust."

Bellatrix was dizzy for a moment, and then she opened her wardrobe again and pulled her clothes back out.

"Madam Selwyn is probably very tired," she said. "Babies wake during the night when they're young. She could use help right now, I reckon."

She started to dress, and Voldemort said gently, "You can go tomorrow."

"With your leave, My Lord, I'll go now," Bellatrix said firmly, pulling her tunic over her head and zipping it up. Voldemort nodded and said in an unequivocal voice,

"You're the best soldier I'll ever have, Bellatrix. Not all battles look the same, you know?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix slid her wand into its holster and walked over to her husband, leaning up to put a careful kiss to his lips. She stroked at his jaw, where the first hints of scruff were growing, and she said, "This will not destroy anything. It just won't."

"No," he said. "It won't. We'll meet her first thing in the morning to debrief."

Bellatrix nodded, taking a step back from him. She Disapparated on the spot, thinking hard about the Selwyn house she'd visited once or twice. When she came to, she was in the garden out front of the Selwyns' house, and inside, she could hear the cry of an angry child.

* * *

**Selwyn Family Residence, Wessex**

**15 September 1971**

Bellatrix rifled through the drawer of baby clothes, trying to sort out the girl's things from the boy's things. It was all a frilly mess, but eventually she managed to find a cream-coloured lace dress and a blue seersucker romper. She sighed as she set the clothes on the changing table, blowing some stray hair from her face and feeling like a madwoman who was talking to herself.

"Right. Victor. You're first, because your clothes look more complicated. Come here." Bellatrix moved across the bedroom that had been made into a makeshift nursery. The day before, House-Elves at the Yaxley and Selwyn homes had coordinated to get the twins' supplies here until Ophelia was found. Madam Selwyn had slept until sunrise, and when she'd woken she'd been so distraught that Bellatrix had said she'd stay another few hours.

During the night, she'd figured how to hold the babies and had fed them a bottle each, and she'd even - with enormous disgust - changed a soiled nappy on each of them. She hadn't been sure about the laundering situation, so she'd just Vanished the nappies and Conjured new cloth to pin carefully around them. It didn't matter, she reckoned, if she was getting any of it exactly right. There was no time or room right now to be particular; their mother was missing.

She lifted little Victor from his sturdy wooden cot, and he snatched at her curls as she carried him to the changing table. Bellatrix pinched her lips and pulled her hair from the baby's hand, scolding him gently,

"Now you leave those curls be. Only one wizard's allowed to pull on my hair, Victor, and it isn't you."

She set him down on the changing table and started pulling off the snap-front pyjamas in which he'd spent the night. For a moment, she considered just casting Cleansing charms on the twins' clothes so she didn't have to bother with changing them, but she thought Madam Selwyn would be happier to see that the babies were being properly cared for. Victor began to fuss, curling his knees up toward his chest and balling his fists as he let out an angry mewl.

"You're hungry, I think," Bellatrix guessed, and as she glanced back to the other cot, she said, "You're lucky your sister sleeps better than you. Maybe I'll have time to feed you before she wakes. Let's hurry up, shall we?"

She peeled the pyjamas off and tossed them helplessly onto the ground beside the changing table, for there was no laundry hamper in sight. Victor's nappy was wet but not soiled, so Bellatrix carefully unpinned it, cast a Tergeo upon it, and - with uncharacteristic caution - cast a Scourgifyon Victor's lower half to stave off any irritation or rash. She wrapped the nappy back around him and pinned it, pulling the seersucker romper over his head and carefully lifting his shoulders to button behind the neckline.

This wasn't nearly as bad as she'd feared, Bellatrix thought as she snapped up the romper between Victor's legs. Indeed, the babies seemed perfectly content, and Bellatrix had even dozed off in the rocking chair during the night because they'd been sleeping so soundly. Now she put Victor back into his cot, afraid he'd roll from the changing table if she walked away to make up his bottle. He couldn't sit yet; Bellatrix had learnt with her own sisters that babies sat around six months or so. So Victor lay in his cot, kicking his feet into the air and grappling with his own toes as he cooed.

Bellatrix cast another Scourgify on a glass bottle to ensure it was clean, then she filled it most of the way with water using Aguamenti. She scooped in the milk powder, following the instructions on the tin. She didn't know whether Ophelia had been nursing the twins herself, but neither of them seemed averse or unaccustomed to bottle feeding, which was a relief given the circumstances.

Indeed, as Bellatrix shook the bottle and carried it back to Victor's cot, he made a contented sound that told her he was very used to seeing someone walking toward him with a bottle. She scooped him up and walked to the rocking chair, arranging him in the way Madam Selwyn had shown her when she'd first come. She put the bottle in Victor's mouth and he started suckling straight away, and once again Bellatrix thought this wasn't as difficult as she'd thought. She glanced over to Joy's cot to see that she was still happily asleep. Twins probably slept more soundly than other babies, Bellatrix considered. And, anyway, it had been Joy who'd woken up a few hours earlier hungry and wet. She was taking her own time sleeping now.

She hummed the tune of a lullaby whose words she couldn't remember, watching as Victor's little hands curls around the glass bottle. She found herself smiling a little at the baby, for it seemed the right thing to do when his little eyes found hers. Victor was a glutton for his milk, and as he drank it down, Bellatrix studied his face and saw Ophelia there. She frowned then, disturbed by the idea of her simply disappearing. She wouldn't have left these babies, Bellatrix knew. She remembered the way a heavily-pregnant Ophelia had teared up simply thinking about the impending birth of her babies. She wouldn't have left them behind.

"Bellatrix?"

She glanced up at the sound of her name, shocked to see Lord Voldemort in the threshold of the sunny bedroom. She started to rise from the rocking chair, but Voldemort gestured for her to stay sitting. He glanced over to where Joy was still asleep in her cot, and he looked profoundly uncomfortable as he trailed his gaze up and down Bellatrix's form. She curled up her lips and teased him,

"Never thought you'd see me doing this, eh?"

He shrugged. "No. I suppose not. Is it very difficult?"

"It's not so bad," Bellatrix said honestly. "They're good babies. May I ask what you're doing here?"

"We were meant to meet first thing this morning in London. When you didn't come back, I figured I'd come here. Wanted to make sure we weren't all making a habit of losing our wives."

Bellatrix cringed at the bad joke, and Voldemort scowled as he murmured,

"Sorry. That's not exactly what I meant. I spoke with the Selwyns downstairs when I first got here. I had to tell them… it was an unpleasant truth to share with parents who actually love their daughter."

Bellatrix felt her veins go cold. "What truth was that, My Lord?"

Victor squirmed in her arms, and Bellatrix realised he was finished eating. She set the empty bottle down and propped Victor up against the cloth on her shoulder. She started patting him gently between his shoulder blades, just like Madam Selwyn had taught her. Voldemort took another step into the bedroom and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ophelia Yaxley was found face-down in the street in Diagon Alley very early this morning. She was dead. No signs of trauma."

"Killing Curse," Bellatrix breathed. "You were right. They Imperiused her to disappear to create chaos for you. Then they killed her. The bastards. The fucking bastards."

Voldemort frowned at Victor and scolded Bellatrix, "I don't think you're meant to swear in front of -"

"Oh, with all due respect, My Lord, that's the least of anyone's concerns right now," Bellatrix hissed, feeling sick to her stomach. There was a quiet cry from Joy's cot, and Bellatrix huffed as she rose quickly from the chair. She went to set Victor down in his own cot so she could tend to Joy, but Victor began to shriek with anger. Joy was crying miserably, needing attention and probably fresh clothes and food. Bellatrix, feeling flustered from the crying and from the shocking news she'd received, walked briskly to Lord Voldemort and thrust Victor into his arms.

"Here," she barked. "Hold him for a moment, will you?"

The look of abject horror that came over his face would have been funny under very different circumstances. But right now, Bellatrix couldn't worry about the way the Dark Lord was holding Victor like a dirty rag, so long as he didn't drop the boy. Victor squirmed in Voldemort's arms, seeming quite confused by the way the wizard holding him was gripping his waist and holding him out awkwardly. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder as she scooped Joy up from her cot, and she said,

"Put him on your hip, My Lord, or let him recline on his back in your arms."

She rushed Joy over to the changing table, her hands starting to become practised with the act of stripping open buttons and snaps. She tossed Joy's pyjamas away and tended to her wet nappy the same way she'd done for Victor. She pinned a clean nappy on the girl and pulled her little dress on, and then all of a sudden she stopped.

Ophelia's eyes and lips were right there, painted on her daughter's face. And Ophelia was dead. Joy cooed and reached up for Bellatrix's hair. Bellatrix let the baby clutch at her curls, and she let herself cry. Her tears dropped one by one onto Joy's lace dress, and from behind her, Voldemort said quietly,

"I'm sorry, Bella. I know she was your friend."

"It's not me I'm worried for, My Lord," Bellatrix said, her breath shaking as she picked Joy up off the table. She kept Joy on her hip and managed to do all the bottle preparation with her wand hand, Scouring and filling and even closing the bottle with one spell after another. She tucked her wand away, cradled Joy, and picked up the bottle. She put it into Joy's mouth and finally turned to see Voldemort looking awkward and uncomfortable with Victor balanced in his stiffly cupped arms.

"You don't want them, do you?" Voldemort asked suddenly, and Bellatrix's mouth fell open as she glanced down at Joy.

"You mean… the twins?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Should I at least offer?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "I'll take them if you command me, My Lord, but… no. I don't… I don't want to be a mother. I'll help out with them going forward, of course, but -"

"No. I understand. And I agree with you," Voldemort said tightly, glancing down at the little boy in his arms and curling his lip up a little with discomfort. He cleared his throat and said, "The Selwyns mean to take them for now. Yaxley can hire a full-time nanny, of course, but… here's where we stand. He's going to require a rather substantial leave of absence from his work at the Ministry. Whoever did this to Ophelia Yaxley was hoping to destabilise my regime. I'd like for you to stand in for Yaxley as Interim Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It'll ensure that there are no holes in trust or communication because of this. It'll be a few weeks, probably. Will you do it?"

Bellatrix tipped her head hesitantly. "I'm not sure I'm qualified, My Lord."

Voldemort rolled his eyes and shifted his weight as Victor squirmed again in his arms. "Bellatrix," he said, sounding almost irritated, "You have participated in battles using the most sophisticated duelling methods we possess. You have captured prisoners. You have interrogated prisoners. You have executed prisoners. How on Earth do you suppose there's anyone more qualified?"

Bellatrix gave him a sceptical look. "You think people will respond positively to a nineteen-year-old Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Even in the interim? I mean, I'm very nearly twenty, but, still…"

Voldemort's face hardened. "People will respond positively to whomever I place in charge, most especially my wife. People will respond positively to whatever I command. I mean to make that very clear to whomever murdered Ophelia Yaxley. Am I clear? I need you in there tomorrow morning."

Bellatrix nodded. "Of course, My Lord."

She turned her attention to the doorway behind him, where Dahlia Lestrange had appeared. She was red-eyed and sorrowful, and Bellatrix knew that she'd received the news about Ophelia. Dahlia glanced to Voldemort, who still looked awfully strange holding little Victor.

"My Lord," Dahlia murmured, bowing her head deeply and descending into a little curtsy. In the tight waistline of Dahlia's dress, Bellatrix could see the subtle swell of her pregnant abdomen, the first visible sign that she was with child. Dahlia looked up to Bellatrix and sounded devastated as she said,

"They're monsters, aren't they? The ones who did this to her? To her babies?"

"Don't worry, Dahlia," Bellatrix said, bouncing a little to make Joy stop fussing in her arms. "We're going to find them and destroy them. Are you here to watch the babies?"

Dahlia nodded and asked, "Are they difficult?"

"No," Bellatrix said honestly. "They're fine. Here, take Joy and finish feeding her. I'll set Victor up in his cot with his mobile."

She walked over to Dahlia and handed Joy over. Dahlia quickly cradled the child and took up the feeding in a way that seemed preternaturally comfortable. Bellatrix sighed a little, rubbing at Joy's thick blonde hair and murmuring,

"You'll be just fine, little one."

She moved toward Voldemort and held her arms out, and Voldemort seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before passing Victor over. Bellatrix flashed him a reassuring little smile and bobbed Victor as she walked back to his cot. She laid him down carefully and started his planetary mobile spinning slowly above his head.

"Motioternum," she whispered, aiming her wand at the mobile and casting a spell to keep it slowly moving. She patted Victor's chest gently and told him, "Your mummy loved you more than any little baby's been loved, Victor. But don't worry. Everything will be fine."

She walked away from the cot without looking back, for she felt an odd compulsion to stay and comfort the baby. She gave Dahlia a grateful look and said,

"Thanks for coming by. I've been here going on twelve hours, so… well, anyway, in a few months you'll have one of your own with no breaks, so this is good practise, eh?"

Dahlia looked heartbroken, still staring down at Joy as she whispered, "She looks so very much like Ophelia, doesn't she?"

"Mm-hmm." Bellatrix's eyes burned in a way that felt very uncomfortable in the presence of others. She let out a shaking sigh and said, "Dahlia, let me know if you need any other help, but I'll be filling in for Yaxley at the Ministry."

"Between Madam Selwyn and myself, we'll handle it," Dahlia assured Bellatrix. She looked to Voldemort and said, "My sister has offered to be a full-time nanny for them, My Lord."

"I'll have Yaxley get in touch with her at once. Thank you." Voldemort snapped his robes tightly around him and told Bellatrix, "You need to get home and get some rest. I'll have a lot of preparation for you to do tonight so you can begin filling in for Yaxley in the morning. Let's go."

Bellatrix nodded and glanced from Joy to Victor and then to Dahlia. She tried to think of something meaningful to say, but all she came up with was, "Goodbye, then."

Dahlia curled her lips up a little, her eyes overcome with sadness. "Goodbye, My Lady."

Something felt very odd about hearing her school friend say those words, but Bellatrix gave no indication. She followed Voldemort downstairs and out of the house, and once they'd Apparated back to St Alban's Grove, she leaned heavily against the wall and dissolved at once into tears.

She wasn't sure exactly why she was crying. Maybe it was because she felt badly for Tudor Yaxley, or because she felt badly for the twins. Maybe it was because she felt badly for Ophelia's mother and father, or for Ophelia herself. It could have been exhaustion, or confusion, or fear. It didn't matter, probably.

Her husband didn't seem to think it mattered, either. He pulled her away from the wall and wrapped her up in his arms as he murmured,

"I have never laboured under any delusions that every single human would universally accept and embrace my regime. I'm sorry the consequences hit close to home for you. I appreciate your help going forward. I need you now more than ever, you understand?"

Bellatrix pulled back from him, nodded, and swiped roughly at her eyes. She tried to focus. There was more at stake than Ophelia and her babies.

"I will do whatever I can, My Lord, to preserve and cement your authority," she said. He smirked and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I know. That's why you're the only one I've ever trusted, and the only one I'll ever love. And I do love you."

Bellatrix nodded and put her hands flat on his chest. "I'm going to go sleep, My Lord, with your leave. Just for a few hours. Then we can begin preparations so that I can run the Department of Magical Law Enforcement properly in Yaxley's absence."

"Wondrous little thing," he told her, bending down to put a careful kiss on her lips. "Beautiful, wondrous, brilliant, brave little thing. Go rest.

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

**15 September 1971**

"And that's all you really need to know about Allen Chambers and the Hit Wizards. My, but that sounds like an awful rock band, doesn't it? Turn to the next page." Voldemort gestured across the desk in his small office, and Bellatrix flicked through the dossier he'd prepared for her. He pointed to the bit of parchment before her and said, "Obviously the Investigation Department of the Auror Office doesn't exist anymore. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office has been culled, too. So it's a leaner department in terms of divisions. You'll notice there are quite a few more working as Aurors, though these days that means pursuing my enemies, not Dark witches and wizards."

"And the head of the Auror Office is Malabit Rowle," Bellatrix nodded. She glanced through the next few pages and said, "Wizengamot Administration Services… seems like they're probably fine without much oversight. Have any of the actual laws changed beyond what I'd know?"

"The laws," Voldemort repeated. He shrugged. "You already know all the new regulations regarding blood status."

"No, I mean… things like intoxicating substances. You mentioned doing away with the Muggle artefacts concerns; has anything changed regarding trade, smuggling, substances, enchanted objects…?"

Voldemort smirked and tapped his desk. "You're very sure you don't want this position permanently? No, none of that's really changed. Enforcement of individual actions has probably diminished, if we're honest. Our focus is not on Butterbeer."

"No, indeed not," Bellatrix murmured. She looked very pretty, he thought, scanning the papers and mentally preparing to handle Yaxley's job for the next few weeks. Voldemort cleared his throat and asked,

"Any questions, then?"

"I don't think so, My Lord," Bellatrix said, shaking her head. She raised her eyes to him and suggested, "Perhaps I ought to have my journal with me. That way, if there's a real-time concern or question, I can reach you immediately."

"Yes, I think that's a fine idea," Voldemort nodded. Bellatrix closed the dossier and set it on his desk, and he said delicately, "You're all right? Mentally, I mean."

Bellatrix looked a little confused, and finally she asked, "You mean because Ophelia was killed?"

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. Sometimes she shocked even him with how cold her heart could be. He adored that about her. He licked his lip and muttered, "Yes, I think you're fine."

He rose and walked over to the brass-and-wood drinks cart that he kept in the corner of his office, and he poured from a bottle of higher-quality gin in which he had a crystal stopper. He added tonic water to the two tumblers, and when he brought the drinks back to his desk, he handed one to Bellatrix. She murmured her thanks and sipped at it, pulling a face at the taste.

"Too much gin?" Voldemort asked, and he got his answer when he sipped from his own glass. He nearly spluttered, and Bellatrix laughed darkly as she reminded him,

"You're the leader of wizarding Britain, not a barkeep. It's perfectly fine that you can't mix a drink to save your soul."

Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow at her bold teasing and said, "I don't need to mix drinks to save my soul; I've got Horcruxes for that."

"Oh, is that what Horcruxes do?" Bellatrix asked, dragging the pad of her finger around her glass. Voldemort found himself particularly hungry for her then, but he managed to take another sip and set his glass down as he said,

"You know, you weren't half-bad with those babies."

"You held poor Victor out like he was on fire or covered in mud. Or both," Bellatrix smirked. Voldemort tipped his head and sipped again.

"Do you mean to spend the entire evening mocking me, Bellatrix?"

"I'm sorry, My Lord." Suddenly her cheeky smile disappeared, and she drank deeply from her gin and tonic as her cheeks went red with embarrassment. Voldemort frowned and told her,

"I don't mind. It's been a difficult few days. I don't mind the teasing, actually."

But Bellatrix's mirth had dissolved, and she shook her head and mumbled another apology. Voldemort wished then that he hadn't said anything about it, that he'd just let her go on taunting him. He swallowed hard and said,

"All joking aside, I do appreciate you spending the whole night and most of the morning with the twins. It's been a messy situation to try and clean up, to say the least. Knowing that the babies were in good hands took some of the fear from the equation, at least."

Bellatrix snorted a joyless laugh and drank from her gin and tonic again. "I don't know about good hands, My Lord. I managed to keep them alive, that's all."

"Bella." Voldemort felt an odd churn in his stomach, and when Bellatrix met his gaze, he told her very seriously, "You're only turning twenty years old. You're still so young, so very young, and you have nothing but time. But you know that if you want -"

"Pardon me for interrupting you, My Lord, but I am really quite tired of people asking me when I'm going to procreate." Bellatrix set her glass down rather firmly on the desk, and Voldemort found himself surprised by the force in her answer. He shrugged and said lightly,

"I wasn't asking you when you were going to procreate, Bellatrix; I was merely reminding you of your freedom to do so if you choose. That's all. Let's drop the subject."

"Yes, let's. Permanently, if you please." Bellatrix looked very irritated, and Voldemort knew she was wrestling with all manner of demons today. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, noticing once again just how thin it was getting these days.

"I think I should cut it short," he said, and well Bellatrix looked perplexed, he gestured up to his head. "My hair. They say once you start to go bald, you should cut it short so it's not quite as… noticeable."

Bellatrix quirked up half her mouth. "I think you look just fine, My Lord."

"Just fine," he nodded. He tipped his head. "Perhaps I just ought to make myself look thirty again; my hair was nice and thick and black back then."

"I could cut your hair for you." Bellatrix sipped from her gin and tonic again and said, "I did all the haircuts for the girls in the Slytherin dormitory. Ophelia said…" She trailed off then, her face twisting a little at the mention of Ophelia. She righted herself, swigged at her liquor, and said firmly, "Ophelia always said I had the steadiest Severing Charm in Slytherin."

"I think you've had too much to drink to be cutting the Dark Lord's hair, don't you?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix said,

"I've probably got another good ten minutes before it really hits me." She stood from her chair, walked around Voldemort's desk, and gave him an expectant look as she awaited permission. He pursed his lips and finally nodded. He shut his eyes nervously as Bellatrix guided her wand carefully around his head and murmured, " _Diffindo… Diffindo._ "

After a few moments, Voldemort opened his eyes and saw her Vanish the hair on the floor. He stood and looked into the mirror on the wall, rubbing his hand over his tightly cropped hair. She'd done a fine job of it; he looked far more distinguished and intimidating like this. He turned to her and nodded his approval.

"Thank you," he said, and Bellatrix nodded up at him as she asserted,

"You're the most handsome wizard in all of Britain, you know."

He choked out a little laugh. "I may be the most powerful wizard, but I'm very sure there are hundreds of better-looking -"

"Not to me," Bellatrix said, so sharply and seriously that Voldemort put a hand on his desk to steady himself. He was feeling the gin in his own veins now, and as he stared at Bellatrix, he sensed something strong and dangerous inside of her. She'd had to awaken the Darkest parts of herself now, in light of everything happening. She wasn't going to let her master's walls fall down around him. She was going to head up a Ministry department for him. She would destroy any enemy she encountered. She had shut off her emotions like the tap of a sink, and so the witch before him was cold as ice and hard as steel. She was a sword of a woman now.

"Bella," Voldemort whispered, reaching to take her face in his hands. She gazed at him, her dark eyes unflinching as she promised him,

"I won't fail you tomorrow. I'll keep the department running smoothly."

"I know you will," he nodded. She covered his hands with hers and squeezed a little as she said,

"I don't want any damned babies."

"I know you don't," Voldemort said. Bellatrix took a half step toward him, her voice a low hiss as she told him,

"If you're amenable, I think I should like to be fucked tonight."

Voldemort's mouth fell open. She so very rarely used coarse language like that, especially in the context of making love. But Bellatrix hadn't asked him to make love to her; she'd requested that he fuck her. That was something else entirely. After caring for someone else's infant twins overnight, after being told that one of her very few friends was dead, after being given orders to head up a Ministry department… Bellatrix was in no mood for making love. She was in the mood to be fucked. Voldemort understood; he'd felt similarly before.

So he snatched Bellatrix's wrist and dragged her out of his office, dashing up the stairs quickly enough that she could barely keep up. He brought her into their green-and-mahogany bedroom and started yanking at her clothes, feeling his body come alive as he did. Even through the thickening haze of the gin, he was very aware of how pretty her breasts looked cloaked in the black lace of her bra. He grabbed hard at the bra, feeling the clasp at the back break as he tore it from her body. Bellatrix's face was steely as she nodded, and Voldemort knew then that she needed him to be rough. She needed him to dominate her, to reassure her with his body that what they had was secure and solid and real.

He tossed the bra away and forced her skirt over her hips with rough movements. Her own hands started to unbutton his tunic, but he swatted her fingers away and snarled,

"I don't recall telling you to undress me."

Her cheeks coloured, and she whispered in a rather surly voice, "Sorry."

"Are you?" Voldemort demanded, seizing her shoulders and pushing her quickly toward the wall. He pinned her wrists to the green wallpaper and put his lips beside her ear. "You disobeyed me and you apologised with snark in your voice. Am I not your lord and master?"

"Yes. Of course you are," Bellatrix nodded, but he tightened his grip on her wrists and pushed his body flush against hers.

"You're such a bad little girl, aren't you?" he taunted her, smashing his hips against hers and hearing her mewl with a hint of pain. He held her wrists ever more tightly and said, "Always breaking rules. Always a troublemaker. And now that you're grown, you just love hurting people. You love killing people. You married an old man with dictatorial aspirations, and you -"

"They're not aspirations; you've won," Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort stepped backward and slapped her face. He hit her hard enough that she looked shocked for a moment, putting her hand to her cheek, and he tipped his head as he warned her,

"Don't you ever interrupt me again. Do you understand?"

She nodded silently, her eyes flashing, and he knew that she needed this right now. It was sick and twisted, probably, that she would derive comfort from this. But she needed it, because she was afraid in the recesses of her being that her world was going to cave in on her.

"Get on the bed. Take your damned socks off," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix scurried away. He stood beside the bed, taking his time as he stripped off his own clothes. Inside, his mind and cock screamed at him to hurry up, to just rush over to the bed and plough himself into Bellatrix from behind. But that wasn't what she needed tonight. He watched her as he unbuttoned his tunic and peeled it off. She was kneeling, her hands tightening on her knees as her eyes glittered with want.

"You like my cock, don't you?" he asked her, dragging his fingertips around the bulge in his trousers. Bellatrix nodded, and he snapped at her, "Hmm? Can't hear you."

"I like your cock, My Lord," Bellatrix said, sounding hoarse. "I like it my mouth. I like it in my body. I like how it tastes. How it feels. Yes, I like it."

He smirked and unbuttoned his trousers, pulling out his erect member and stroking slowly. He used one hand to push down his trousers and underwear, and when he'd stepped out of them, he stalked to the bed and climbed up.

"Get on your back," he told Bellatrix, but when she hesitated for a half second, he shoved at her shoulders and sneered, "Too slow."

The flush in her cheeks had spread down to her neck and chest, and her nipples were completely hard. Voldemort shoved her legs apart, his own body throbbing for her as he touched his fingers between her thighs. He let out a cruel little laugh and said in a taunting voice,

"I knew it. Completely drenched. You can't even handle getting slapped by me without getting wet, can you?"

"I was wet in your office," Bellatrix said breathlessly. Voldemort scoffed and slid the fingers of his other hand around her thigh as he warned her,

"Your disrespect will only earn you pain, Bellatrix."

He shoved his fingers into her then, one after the other until he had three fingers inside of her. She bucked her hips up and clenched her fists, writhing and moaning against the sudden violent invasion. Voldemort twisted and pumped his fingers, being as rough with her womanhood as he could manage. She cried out in a tone he couldn't discern - was it pleasure or pain or both? He used his thumb to play with her nub, and when he glanced down and saw her toes curl, he knew she liked it.

"Don't stop," she whispered suddenly, and Voldemort paused as he snapped,

"Ask me nicely."

"P-please, My Lord. Please, will you please keep g-going?" Bellatrix murmured, her eyes wrenched shut.

"Mmm-hmm." Voldemort used a slightly gentler motion now, his twisting and pumping movements giving way to a sort of deep and powerful massage of her womanhood. He found himself stroking her right thigh with his free hand, and suddenly he could hear himself whispering,

"It's going to be all right, Bella. A week from now we'll be dancing at your birthday party and Ophelia Yaxley will already be in the ground. Everything is going to be fine."

"I love you," she murmured back, and he watched as a silent tear wormed its way from her eye.

"Try and come for me," Voldemort said softly, feeling drunk all of a sudden. The gin had hit him five minutes ago, probably, but he was only noticing now. He rubbed circles on her clit with his thumb and bent down, kissing away the tear on her cheek as he said again, "Try and let go, little thing. You need it; you need to come for me."

She nodded, tipping her head back against the pillow. Voldemort kept up his motions and felt her body go taut beneath him. He touched his lips to her neck, and the vibration of her moan made his lips go warm. She came so hard that the clenching around his fingers seemed to go on forever. Her fists went from the blankets to Voldemort's freshly shorn hair. He crushed her mouth with a kiss as she came, and, unable to wait anymore, he moved a little and replaced his fingers with his cock.

He kissed her as he cycled his hips, knowing that her body was spent from her powerful climax. This wasn't fucking, he realised, and she'd asked to be fucked. But as he made love to her, stroking her curls and kissing her neck and pumping himself smoothly inside of her, he couldn't care. He could only trust her. She was critical now. She was… everything.

"I love you, too," he found himself whispering, for she'd said it to him earlier. He burrowed his face into the crook of her neck as he came, and between his guttural moans, he said again, "I love you, Bella."

Ten minutes later she was curled up against him, one leg and one arm flung over him with her face against his chest. He pet her hair and ran his fingers up and down her leg, and he stared at the ceiling as he said,

"Ophelia Yaxley isn't any different from any other casualty. It's still a war. It'll always be a war, and wars have casualties."

"Yes, My Lord. I understand," Bellatrix said firmly.

"You're going to do fine at the MInistry. Better than fine," he said. "I trust you."

"I'll do my best to make your proud," Bellatrix murmured, sounding tired. He kissed her dewy forehead and assured her,

"You're enough. Just you. You're more than enough for me."

She'd know what he meant by that. He would never need children, or mistresses, or friends, or anyone else, really. Everyone else were sycophants, cogs in a machine. Replaceable. She was Bellatrix. She was different.

She surprised him then by looking up at him with eyes that were heavy with unshed tears. She asked in a quiet voice,

"Do I make you happy?"

"Yes," he nodded at once. "You make me very happy."

She put her head back on his chest and sighed. "That's more than enough for me."


	5. Book the Fifth

**Ministry of Magic, London**

**16 September 1971**

The moment Bellatrix stepped out of the Floo Network and into the enormous atrium of the Ministry, she could feel dozens of eyes on her. She kept her gaze locked forward as she gave a polite nod to the receptionist at the information desk. She kept her steps brisk and confident, though she felt anything but sure of herself. As she walked by people, they looked away or bowed their heads or murmured little platitudes. She ignored them. She had work to do.

She made her way to the bank of lifts and stepped into one, pressing the button for the second level where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was. The door was about to shut when she heard someone call,

"Hold the lift, please!"

Bellatrix frowned, putting her hand in front of the grate and glancing out to see who was coming. It was Rodolphus Lestrange, dashing toward the lift with an armload of papers. He skidded to a stop when he saw Bellatrix, and he gulped before he said firmly,

"Apologies, My Lady. I'll take the next one."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Just get in the lift, Dolph."

He seemed acutely uncomfortable as he stepped inside, his cheeks colouring as he murmured, "Level Seven, please."

Bellatrix pressed the button, and the lift's grate glided shut. She held onto the railing along the wall, for she was too short to reach the ones on the ceiling. As the lift moved, Bellatrix said quietly to Rodolphus,

"Congratulations on your engagement to Marya. You'll make each other very happy, I think."

"I do not mean to be disrespectful, Madam Black, but I'm not supposed to speak to you. Ever." Rodolphus stared straight ahead, and Bellatrix felt her lips curl up a little as she nodded.

"I'll be sure to let him know you were so loyal to him," she said, and Rodolphus blinked as he kept staring straight ahead. Bellatrix was relieved when he got off the lift, but she was surprised by the way he didn't bother wishing her a good day or anything of the sort.

When the lift announced that they'd reached Level Two, Bellatrix stepped off and made her way down the corridor just as Lord Voldemort had instructed her. She used the spells he'd given her to unward the door to Yaxley's office, and inside she found a slick room of black tile and silver decorations. It was cold and windowless and almost angry in its masculinity, but as Bellatrix sat in Yaxley's black leather chair, she felt powerful.

"Madam Black?" said a voice from the other side of the door. "This is Evangeline Simmons; may I come in?"

Yaxley's secretary. Bellatrix cleared her throat and tried to sound older as she called, "Yes. Come in, please."

The door opened, and a thin witch in her forties flashed Bellatrix a little smile as she entered. She closed the door behind her, and Bellatrix said,

"Pleased to meet you, Ms Simmons."

"Evangeline. Please. The honour is all mine, My Lady, though I admit I wish the circumstances were different."

Bellatrix nodded and frowned. "I know Tudor Yaxley well enough to know that he'll be back here very soon, despite the tragedy. Please have a seat, Evangeline."

As the other witch took out a daily briefing sheet, Bellatrix mused, "You do know, don't you, that I'm a secretary myself?"

Evangeline Simmons looked a little confused, and Bellatrix smirked. "When I'm not Interim Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I'm the Dark Lord's secretary."

Evangeline Simmons looked a little embarrassed then as she said quietly, "I'm sure you're the finest secretary about, My Lady. This is today's schedule; it was made prior to Madam Yaxley's disappearance. I have cancelled anything that isn't critical, since many of those projects and meetings involve ongoing issues for which Mr Yaxley himself is required."

"Understood," Bellatrix said in a clip. She glanced down the schedule and noted, "There's an empty swath of three hours this morning, and then a meeting scheduled with Malabit Rowle at two this afternoon. I'm assuming there have been meetings shifted around due to Yaxley's absence. Please check and see if Madam Rowle can meet this morning so I can consolidate everything."

Evangeline Simmons smiled a little and nodded. "I shall send a memo to her at once, My Lady. Anything else?"

"I don't think so. Thank you." Bellatrix watched the other witch go, sighing a little as some of her nervousness dissolved. An hour later, she had Malabit Rowle in the office, discussing the investigation of Ophelia Yaxley's murder.

"So you have no actual leads, then?" Bellatrix asked, and Malabit shook her head regretfully.

"I wish I could tell you we did," she said, "but the reality is that we have dozens of Aurors searching every location relevant to the Dark Lord's enemies. We've investigated everyone - everyone - on the inside, anyone who could have contacted her directly. The last time anyone saw her acting normally, My Lady, she was shopping for baby clothes in Diagon Alley."

Bellatrix felt a little sick at that. She nodded and said, "Keep up the investigation. The Dark Lord has confidence in your ability to get a handle on the situation."

"Of course, My Lady." Malabit Rowle started to stand and said cautiously, "If it's all right with you, I'm going to spend the rest of the day meeting with my Aurors one by one to try and expedite this process. I'll keep you updated every step of the way."

"Thank you, Madam Rowle," Bellatrix nodded. "Good day to you."

A few minutes after Malabit Rowle left, Evangeline Simmons brought tea in for Bellatrix. As she sipped it, she noticed that her journal had gone black on the desk. She frowned a little and opened it, trying not to smirk to herself as she read her husband's script.

_How's your first day going?_

She picked up her enchanted quill and scribbled back,  _My Lord, please don't be angry, but I've accidentally burned down the entire Ministry Headquarters._

She giggled a little as the words faded into the page, and smiled broadly when his response came back.  _Here I thought the key to power was overthrowing the Ministry. Your way is better. Burn it all._

Bellatrix sipped from her tea and was about to write a response when more words from him came through.

_The fact that you're able to joke at all reassures me that everything is going fine. I'll see you at home._

* * *

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove**

**21 September 1971**

She felt his hand on her before she opened her eyes. Rubbing over her bare arm, his fingers threading with hers as his lips pressed to her neck. Bellatrix felt herself smile a little, relieved that Yaxley had decided he was sick of sulking at home and wanted to go back to work. That meant that today, which was a notable day if nothing else, Bellatrix would not find herself working at the Ministry.

"Happy birthday to you," sang her husband, his voice a quiet, low growl against her neck. Bellatrix giggled and he kissed her skin again and finished the song. "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Bellatrix. Happy birthday to you."

She rolled over and smiled at him, stroking at the cheek that so badly needing shaving as she asked, "Are you quite sure Yaxley will be all right? It hasn't been very long. I don't mind going in and -"

"He'll be fine, and if he isn't, you can go in tomorrow," Voldemort said firmly. He seemed to like the way Bellatrix was stroking at his jaw, for he shut his eyes and let out a contented little sigh. Bellatrix frowned, realising what her age was today, and she said quietly,

"I feel so old. Twenty. Twenty. Ugh."

"Don't do that." Voldemort's eyes sprang open, and the peaceful happiness from when they'd first awakened was gone. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and scowled at her, and Bellatrix sat up, nervously pulling the sheets around the chest that was pouring out of her low-cut nightgown.

"Don't do what?" she asked anxiously. Voldemort tipped his head and gave her a withering look.

"Don't tell me you feel old for turning twenty, Bella. Don't."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to offend you, My Lord."

He chewed his lip and reminded her, "The first time I ever kissed you, you'd only been of age for three months. It was on the very cusp of being legal, even by their old standards. I've never been a man of particularly powerful scruples, Bella, but how do you suppose it made me feel to want - to need - a witch in school robes?"

Bellatrix said nothing. She'd thought about their age difference now and then, of course, but she'd never really considered how it must have made Lord Voldemort feel to be beholden, body and mind, to someone who was little more than a child.

"I confess I am not at all displeased that your age now begins with the number two," Voldemort said, a little more gently. He brushed his knuckles beneath her eye and whispered, "Don't worry; you'll always feel young when you've got me nearby."

"But you're going to live forever," Bellatrix reminded him, and he cocked up an eyebrow.

"So are you. Now, get dressed, little thing. I got you flying lessons for your birthday."

He pulled himself out of the bed, making his way toward the bathroom, and Bellatrix furrowed her brow with confusion as she called after him,

"Flying lessons? I took those at Hogwarts, My Lord. Passed final exams for them and everything."

"Not with a broomstick, you silly girl," he said, leaning on the threshold of the bathroom door and giving her a disarming smirk. Suddenly Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she breathed with disbelief,

"Unassisted."

"Mmm-hmm." Voldemort stepped back into the bathroom, putting cleansing powder on his toothbrush. He started to scrub at his teeth, and Bellatrix crossed her arms over her skimpy nightgown as she shook her head from the doorway.

"Unassisted flight isn't possible," she asserted. Voldemort kept on cleaning his teeth, staring at Bellatrix in the mirror. He finally spat out the cleansing powder and rinsed his mouth, and he put his hands on the edges of the sink as he asked her,

"If unassisted flight is impossible, then why can I do it?"

Bellatrix watched him shave, unable to move or speak for awhile. Finally he turned and feigned confusion, his face half-covered in cream as he shrugged and asked, "Is it that interesting to watch a man shave?"

"It is interesting to watch you do anything," Bellatrix said. "You're the most powerful wizard who's ever lived. You've dreamed up spells, and apparently you've mastered flight. You invent magic."

"Give yourself some credit, little thing," Voldemort said, dragging his blade around his cheek carefully as he turned his eyes back to the mirror and reminded her, "You came up with the potion to achieve the same thing Moody's spell did."

Bellatrix scoffed. "That's not remotely the same thing as achieving flight. Or… you know, conquering wizarding Britain."

"And yet, they call you My Lady. And it isn't because of me," Voldemort mused. He finished shaving and rubbed at his face with a hot rag, flicking his eyes to Bellatrix in the mirror as he said again, "Get dressed."

* * *

**Ramsey, Isle of Man**

**21 September 1971**

"My Lord, you know I will always obey you," Bellatrix said, following her master over some craggy rocks near the deserted seashore, "but I must tell you that if I fall and break all my limbs and can't dance tonight at my birthday party… I'll be a little upset."

"If you fall, I shall catch you," Voldemort assured her, walking around the sand on which they'd arrived and casting Muggle-repelling charms. Bellatrix joined him, shielding off the area from anyone who might wander by. When they'd finished, Voldemort stood on the beach, the cold, grey ocean crashing behind him, and he suggested, "Why don't we begin with a demonstration, then?"

Bellatrix nodded silently. She'd been itching to see him fly since she'd figured out he could do it. She had never, ever seen a human fly unassisted, mostly because it was something that was considered impossible. She knew why he wanted her to learn this skill, this rare ability he'd figured out for himself. It was because of battle, and he feared battles in the future. They never knew when someone might snatch her necklace from her and keep her from Disapparating. Travel by Floo was more unreliable than perhaps had once been assumed. Having as many tricks in one's arsenal as possible, as many means of escape as possible, was critical.

"Ready?" Voldemort asked crisply, and Bellatrix just nodded again. She watched as he pushed his boots off the sand, floating slowly upward as though some invisible string was summoning him. He smirked at her as she watched in wonder, and then suddenly he'd dashed away through the air, a ripple of black smoke curling around his legs and feet and dissolving into the air behind him.

He moved elegantly, soaring to a height that made Bellatrix's heart thud in her chest. He flitted in around like a starling, as though moving in the air was the easiest thing he could do. Bellatrix felt her eyes well, a bit overwhelmed by the sight of him flying, and by the time he landed back on the beach in front of her, she felt like applauding him. He stroked at his thin wand and tipped his head.

"Would you like to try?"

Bellatrix shook her head and stared down at the sand. "I'm not powerful enough to do something like that, My Lord."

"Don't be silly. Of course you are. Take out your wand." Voldemort's voice was clear even over the sound of the crashing ocean waves, and when Bellatrix raised her eyes to him, he said quietly, "You'll be fine. Take out your wand."

She did as he ordered, pulling out her bent wand and clearing her throat where she stood. Voldemort stepped up to her and put one hand behind her back, bending to kiss her lips as he whispered,

"Close your eyes."

She did, and she felt one of his hands snare into her hair as he spoke in a low, sibilant murmur.

"Imagine a bird. Any bird, but maybe something like a falcon. Imagine it flying - pushing off with its talons scraping the branch of a tree. Imagine it beating its wings against the air, rising effortlessly with a body that was built for flight."

Bellatrix tried to stay steady as she dutifully built the fantasy in her mind. Voldemort kissed her cheek and whispered,

"Now imagine you're the falcon. Imagine the sensation of flying. Wrap your fingers carefully round your wand…"

He covered her hand with his as he adjusted her grip. Then he touched his lips to her forehead and told her,

"The incantation is  _Avio_. Simple as that. Go on."

Bellatrix focused hard on the image of the falcon in her mind. Then, her eyes still closed tightly, she said in a firm voice, " _Avio_."

She pushed her own boots off the ground, and her eyes flew open when she realised she was floating upward. She lost her focus and came crashing down onto the sand at once, falling a metre or so and spluttering as she spit sand from her mouth.

"You said you'd catch me!" she protested as Voldemort heaved her up. He laughed a little and admitted,

"I didn't think you'd fall quite that quickly. You got distracted by the very idea of flight. But it's no different from your Flying lessons at school, Bella. You're just missing the broomstick. Try again."

Bellatrix sighed, her voice shaking a little. She imagined birds flying - robins flitting through the spring air and eagles making their way across the Mongolian plains. She gripped her wand carefully and said,

" _Avio_."

Then she pushed off the ground again, and this time she soared upward so quickly that she giggled. She thought about pausing, and her body stopped moving upward. She looked down to see the ocean far below, and Lord Voldemort staring up from the beach, looking awfully pleased with himself.

Bellatrix leaned forward as if she were on a broomstick, and similarly to how one controlled that instrument, she simply willed herself forward. It worked. Her body moved much more slowly than Voldemort's had, but she knew that practise would help, as it did in so many other occasions. She pulled herself up to a stop after awhile, feeling utterly free where she hovered.

"See? I knew you could do it," said his voice from behind her. Bellatrix turned round, surprised to find that moving about up here was almost like being suspended in water… except faster. Everything was fast and easy. She smiled at Voldemort as he glided up to her, and she marveled,

"I still can't believe you figured this out yourself."

"It's come in handy more than once in battle," Voldemort shrugged. Then his face was a bit odd, and he asked, "How are you feeling?"

She knew why he was asking that. She'd been unconscious for nearly a month because she'd performed magic far beyond the reach of her abilities. He was worried that this - unsupported flight - was something she couldn't actually do. Perhaps it was only him who was capable of doing something like this with ease. Bellatrix drifted toward him in the air, taking his face in her hands and assuring him,

"I'm fine, My Lord."

He quirked up half his mouth and leaned close to her, whispering against her lips,

"Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

She let him kiss her then, feeling like they'd been removed from the confines of their bodies for a moment as his tongue pushed into her mouth. Then, very suddenly, Bellatrix was falling. She'd completely cut the spell off, entirely by accident, and she was tumbling downward. She could see the cold, grey surface of the ocean getting terrifyingly close, and she squeezed her wand as she tried to remember what the damned spell was to slow down a fall. She knew it. She knew it. But the ocean was getting so close, and -

"Oof!"

Bellatrix felt like she'd been punched in the stomach as she was snatched out of the air by unseen hands. The ocean was gone; she was soaring upward and then more gently back down to the beach. She trembled and her legs nearly gave out on her as Voldemort set her down carefully on the sand, the black smoke of his rapid flight dissolving around him. He gave her a look wrought with an emotion she couldn't quite pin down, and he licked his lip as he said,

"You got distracted."

"Well, yes," she said helplessly. "You kissed me in the middle of the air, My Lord."

"Do you suppose there wouldn't be distractions in battle?" he snapped. Then, shutting his eyes and holding the bridge of his nose, he said, "We'll move more slowly in future lessons. This is, admittedly, a complex skill with which no one has experience but me. You'll master it. It'll be fine."

"I'm sorry I fell," Bellatrix mumbled, but he shook his head dismissively. She shifted her weight on the sand and admitted, "It was rather heroic. The way you just sort of swooped out of the air and grabbed me so that -"

"Bellatrix, if you'd fallen from that height into the water, you'd have gotten quite hurt," Voldemort said tightly. "Heroics aside, I had no choice but to fly as quickly as I possibly could, and I only just barely made it. We're done for the day."

Bellatrix tucked her wand away and nodded. "I'll do better next time."

"You did fine," he said, shrugging. "Let's go home. You'll want to relax before your party, I suppose."

Bellatrix chewed her lip, staring beyond him at the ocean for a long moment as she considered everything that had happened recently.

"I do not mean to be ungrateful or disrespectful," she began, "but are you very certain that a birthday party is appropriate right now?"

"It is necessary right now," Voldemort answered firmly. "You don't have to giggle. You can mention that you wish Ophelia were there. But you'll shake hands and say thank you for gifts, and you'll drink Champagne and eat cake and dance, because presenting normalcy is how a regime counters resistance. You understand?"

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded.

"Good. You did fine, even with the fall," he told her. "I'll meet you at the house."

She smiled gratefully, taking a step back and getting one last glimpse of him standing there on the beach before she Disapparated.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**21 September 1971**

She was almost painfully beautiful. He'd thought that about her before, Voldemort knew, but this time the twist in his stomach was more powerful than he could remember. Staring at her across the ballroom, looking at her as she stood chatting in her beautiful gown to her parents, he was frozen. She was beautiful.

"P-pardon me… My Lord?"

Voldemort turned and frowned when he saw Tudor Yaxley, pale-lipped with bags under his eyes, standing before him in formal robes.

"Yaxley," he said, careful not to sound too harsh. "You didn't have to come."

Yaxley nodded, looking like he hadn't slept in days. He probably hadn't. He gulped and said quietly, "My Lord, I do not mean to cast any sort of pall on Madam Black's birthday celebration, and if it is inappropriate for me to have brought this here, I do apologise."

Voldemort shrugged. "What do you mean?"

Yaxley pulled a folded piece of parchment from the pocket inside his robes and held it out with a shaking hand. Voldemort read it quickly; it was an Individual File from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A profile.

"Charlus Potter," Voldemort murmured, reading the name at the top of the page. He raised his eyes to Yaxley and demanded, "What of him?"

Yaxley flicked his eyes over toward Bellatrix, and Voldemort realised that the man thought Bellatrix should be involved in the discussion. She had, after all, spent time filling in for Yaxley. Voldemort sighed and reached beneath his left sleeve, rubbing at his Dark Mark for a moment.

Her face flew up, her eyes wide, and he jerked his chin to beckon her. Bellatrix murmured a quick excuse to her parents, and she came trotting over with a glass of wine in her hand. She stared at Yaxley for a moment, and he stammered,

"Happy… Happy birthday, My Lady."

"Has something happened?" Bellatrix asked in a hiss, and the urgency among the three of them suddenly felt at great odds with the delicate strains from the hired strings. Voldemort showed her the parchment Yaxley had given him, and then Yaxley said,

"The Aurors had been asking around… anyone who had been in Diagon Alley the last time Ophelia was seen behaving properly. There were several who had seen her speaking with Charlus Potter. They tracked him down. Found him in Godric's Hollow."

"And where is he now?" Voldemort asked sharply. Yaxley shut his eyes for a moment, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides as he admitted,

"He's here, My Lord. Here at the manor. In the dungeons."

Voldemort met Bellatrix's eyes, and he knew what she was going to suggest. He tipped his head and told her,

"It's your birthday party. You need to stay up here and socialise. And, anyway, there's no need for torture. I'll simply look into his head. If it was him, I'll kill him. Simple as that."

"There will be more, My Lord, where he came from," Yaxley said, and Voldemort nodded.

"Yes, there will be. There always will be. There has never existed a political regime that wasn't constantly challenged by a resistance. But they'll be like mice in a house. Annoying, but not a real threat. You trap them and eliminate them one by one, but they're never fully gone."

"He has a son." Bellatrix pointed to part of Charlus Potter's profile and raised her eyes to both wizards before her. "James Potter. First-year Gryffindor."

Voldemort nodded. "Yaxley, when you go to work tomorrow, send correspondence to Hadley Carrow at Hogwarts. Have her take the boy out. And have the Aurors track down the wife. Bellatrix, why don't you show Yaxley where the cake table is? I won't be long."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix folded the profile and handed it back over, and when Voldemort took it, he wandlessly Vanished it. He put his hand on Yaxley's shoulder, feeling his servant shrink a little beneath his touch, and he said firmly,

"Good man, Yaxley. Go eat some cake."

He made his way briskly downstairs, still able to hear the music and conversation when he stepped up to the doorway that led to the dungeons. The two young wizards who had been assigned to guard the entrance stepped aside at once, bowing their heads and mumbling platitudes to the Dark Lord. He had no time to be conversational. He flicked his wand to illuminate the sconces on the walls as he trotted down the stairs, and when he saw the wizard chained and huddled on the ground, he made no pretense.

" _Legilimens,_ " he said, aiming his wand straight at Charlus Potter's face. The man's black hair fell ruggedly in front of his eyes and his pale face tipped forward as Voldemort crashed into his mind. There were a few interesting ideas that went floating by - meetings with Arthur Weasley and Alastor Moody. Sitting around a table with Dumbledore and others. His little boy, James, black-haired just like his father.

Then, finally, Voldemort found what he was looking for. Ophelia Yaxley, walking in a quiet part of Diagon Alley, her shopping basket laden with clothes and toys. Charlus Potter levitated a baby girl's dress from the basket and dropped it on the cobblestones, rushing to pick it up and calling after Ophelia. Pardon me, madam, but… did you drop this? Ophelia had been grateful, taking the dress and smiling and meeting Charlus Potter's eyes. Then he'd Imperiused her, boldly and unapologetically, but there had been no one to see. Later he'd controlled her from afar to step into the Floo fireplace, to wind up at an old, disused Floo house in London, to go back to Diagon Alley. And in the earliest hours of the morning, when there had been no one to see, Charlus Potter had stood crying, apologising, saying that this was the only way to stop that monster. And then he'd killed her.

Voldemort pulled out of Charlus Potter's head and sighed lightly down at the wizard. Potter kept his head bowed and whispered,

"You'll never win. Not really."

"I already have," Voldemort shrugged. "Don't worry; we'll kill your son, too."

Charlus raised his glittering blue eyes and shook his head, sounding very frightened indeed. "Not James," he begged. "Please. Please, not James."

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Voldemort sneered, and the spell exploded out of his wand with a blinding flash of jade green light. He blinked through the sudden brightness, flush with the high that always came right after killing. Charlus Potter was slumped in death, his chest motionless and his eyes staring blankly. Voldemort swished his wand and murmured, "Corpus Evanesco."

The body Vanished into Nonbeing, and then Voldemort stood staring at a completely empty dungeon. He turned and made his way quickly up the stairs, nodding at the guards and knowing they'd heard him cast the Killing Curse. They looked at once terrified and awed, which was just the way Lord Voldemort preferred his followers.

Back in the ballroom, he found Bellatrix standing with Tudor Yaxley, appearing to have some semblance of a reassuring conversation as they both ate slices of vanilla cake. Both looked up anxiously as he walked toward them, and Voldemort said simply,

"It was him. It's done."

Yaxley seemed for a moment as though he were on the verge of tears, but he gathered himself and mumbled some thanks.

"It wasn't for you, nor for Ophelia," Voldemort reminded him. "It was for me. For my cause, you understand?"

"I understand, My Lord," said Yaxley. Bellatrix, always the expert diplomat in situations like these, said with feigned lightness,

"Mr Yaxley was just telling me how well Daisy Greengrass is doing with the twins. They adore her, he says, and she has adjusted well to being their full-time nanny."

"That's good news," Voldemort said, though he really didn't care about nannies. He licked his bottom lip and said, "Bella, dance with me."

It wasn't a question, nor a suggestion, and she seemed to know that. She set her half-eaten cake down on the table nearby and flashed Yaxley a small smile. She took Voldemort's arm and let him lead her to the dance floor, but she felt stiff in his arms as they settled into a slow two-step. She was distracted, staring at the buttons on his tuxedo shirt, and he murmured,

"You're just jealous you didn't get to kill him yourself."

She looked up at him, her face stony, and shook her head as he smirked. He sighed and repeated his message from earlier.

"There will always be dissidents. We will always destroy them."

She nodded silently and said, "My parents gifted me a thousand Galleons for my birthday. I'm not sure what I'm meant to do with them."

"Buy something?" Voldemort shrugged. "New clothes?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "I've all the clothes I could ever want. And all the jewelry. And all the shoes, and all the books. I don't need anything."

"Then save it," Voldemort said. "It'll gain interest; just ask your father."

She looked like she wanted to laugh at that, but her face stayed very serious, and Voldemort gritted his teeth a little as he reminded her,

"There's a certain sullen weight to this party already, Bella. I need you to smile."

She did, looking right at him. She moved the corners of her lips upward, but it came out much more like a grimace and didn't reach her eyes. Voldemort gave her a withering look and finally murmured,

"Knock-knock."

"What?" Bellatrix scoffed in disbelief, her feet faltering in the dance. Voldemort tightened his hand behind her back and smirked as he said,

"No; you say, 'who's there.' Let's begin again. Knock-knock."

Bellatrix hesitated. "Who's there?"

"Bellatrix," he said, and she looked exceedingly sceptical as she took the bait.

"Bellatrix who?"

He rubbed his thumb over hers and said quietly, "Bellatrix, who looks criminally beautiful tonight and not a day older than nineteen."

Bellatrix suddenly broke into laughter, into real peals of laughter, shaking her head as her gaze shifted from unease to fondness.

"My Lord, that's not even a real joke," she said, and he shrugged as he noted,

"Maybe not, but it did make you smile, and everyone's watching."

Bellatrix sighed, happily this time, and she squeezed his shoulder a little. Voldemort let his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he studied her wide eyes, and he whispered,

"I want to kiss you. Right here, in front of everybody, I just want to kiss you."

Bellatrix seemed almost peaceful as she nodded. "Then do it."

"No." Voldemort shook his head. She knew better than that; she knew that he could never look that human to the rest of them. She did not seem at all surprised when he said softly, "I'll kiss you in my bed. Tonight and tomorrow and every day thereafter. But you are disarmingly beautiful right now, Bellatrix."

Her eyes welled a little, and her fingers tightened again on her shoulder as she mumbled, "I love you, My Lord. So very much."

"I know, little thing," he nodded. He glanced around at her birthday party, knowing it was more subdued and somber than had been initially planned. He turned his eyes back to her and asked seriously, "Have I made you happy?"

"Oh, yes," Bellatrix nodded, her feet going still as the dance ended. "Very happy."

People applauded the strings, and suddenly Voldemort didn't care if he looked a little human. He'd just committed murder in colder blood than any of the rest of them could ever possess. Besides, they knew he was married, and everyone knew what it meant to be married.

And she was terrifyingly beautiful.

So he cupped her jaw in his hand and bent down to meet her, touching his lips to hers for a half second in a chaste but powerful kiss. As he pulled away, he nodded once and said gently,

"Happy birthday, Bella."

Her smile then could have lit up the whole world, and a single tear fell immediately from her eye. He knew people were looking, seeing the glee written on her face from the tiny bit of public affection he'd shown her, but he was the only one to hear her say, with all the sincerity in the world,

"Thank you."

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

**29 September 1971**

Bellatrix sighed as she Vanished the 'junk mail' that had come for Lord Voldemort. Cards declaring undying loyalty. Requests for Ministry positions. Even one rather flowery love letter from a young witch that was so ludicrous that Bellatrix had considered keeping it to show him for a good laugh.

There was a thick envelope with an elaborate wax seal on the desk before her, and Bellatrix frowned as she recognised the symbol. MACUSA. The wizarding government in America. Bellatrix knew this wasn't a letter she ought to open; the envelope was heavy and the sender was too important. She snatched her journal from her desk and opened it, using her enchanted quill to quickly scribble,

_My Lord, I've a very important letter here for you. Is Avery still there, or may I come down?_

Her words sank into the page, and as she waited for a response, she picked up the heavy envelope from MACUSA and studied it again. It was stylish and modern-looking in a way that seemed distinctly foreign. Her journal turned black, and when she opened it, she was surprised to see her husband's writing say simply,

_I'll come to you._

They'd never met here in her office, which was cramped compared to his spacious and elegant workspace. But there was a small leather-backed chair opposite her desk, and at least it was bright and airy from the windows.

He didn't knock, which wasn't surprising, and when he came inside, he sat immediately in the chair across from Bellatrix. He smirked and held his hands up expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well," Bellatrix replied simply. She glanced around the room and noted somewhat playfully, "The Dark Lord deigns to grant his secretary the honour of his presence in her tiny office."

"The secretary is awfully cheeky," Voldemort said, and suddenly Bellatrix could tell that his meeting with Avery had gone very well indeed. They'd been discussing plans to ensure that marriages involving Mudbloods were immediately invalidated. Now Lord Voldemort seemed to be in a particularly good mood, and Bellatrix decided to push her luck in teasing him.

"Sometimes your secretary gets a little bored," she complained, looking down at her desk and drawing a line over the grain with her finger. "Sometimes your secretary fantasises about her boss."

"Oh? And what sort of wicked images come into your head in the middle of the day, little thing?" he asked. She raised her eyes to him and shrugged.

"I dunno. You taking me on my desk. On the rug. Against the wall. In the -"

"Bellatrix, is that letter from MACUSA?" he asked suddenly, and Bellatrix snapped out of their little game. She felt embarrassed then, like she'd failed to do her job. She plastered a serious look onto her face and nodded as she handed him the thick envelope.

"Yes. I'm sorry, My Lord; I ought to have given it to you straight away."

If he was angry, he didn't show it. He pulled at the wax seal and opened the thick envelope, pulling out the letter inside. He read for awhile, his face completely still and impassive, and Bellatrix began to grow more and more anxious. After what felt like an eternity, Voldemort cleared his throat quietly and began to read the letter out loud from the beginning.

" _To Lord Voldemort, on behalf of the Magical Congress of the United States of America: Dearest sir, it was with some measure of relief that MACUSA learned of your successful acquisition of authority in Great Britain. As I'm sure you know, there has been for some time a bit of tension between the British Ministry of Magic and MACUSA, owing to our differing views on No-Majs, or, as you call them, Muggles._

_MACUSA has operated for centuries under Rappaport's Law, which strictly separates non-Magical people from the Magical community. For many years, we have struggled to find an agreement with the British Ministry regarding segregation of Magical and non-Magical peoples. Now, in the United States, we are faced with enormous pressure to allow the children of No-Majs into our schools, to allow intermarriage with No-Majs, and to accommodate rapidly accelerating No-Maj technology and changing morality. The hallowed ideals that have kept the American Magical community pure for centuries are under grave threat._

_President Sabine Roche is well aware that your government now operates with strict regulation of_ No-Majs, _or Muggles. President Roche is anxious to meet with Lord Voldemort to discuss strategies and theories regarding the separation of Magical and non-Magical people. We would be delighted to welcome you to New York on your first international visit as the leader of wizarding Britain. Of course, Madam Bellatrix Black is also more than welcome, and her presence would be greatly appreciated by President Roche herself. If it is too inconvenient for you to come to New York at the present time, we can send a delegation to Britain instead. Our goal is to facilitate friendlier relations between our respective governments and to share ideas and tactical strategies for the issue of preserving Magical purity._

_Once again, please allow MACUSA to congratulate you on your ascent to authority._

_Warmest regards,_

_Madam Sabine Roche, President of the Magical Congress of the United States_ "

Voldemort set the letter down on Bellatrix's desk, and she just sat there in shock for a long moment. She found his eyes at last, and she asked quietly,

"So… what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to New York, I suppose," he shrugged. "Well. We are. We're going to New York."

Bellatrix's eyes went wide, and she shook her head as she asked, "Are you sure it's wise to go that far, My Lord? I don't mean to question you; it's just… New York. It's so very far away."

"I mean to be in power for a very long time, Bellatrix," he said. "This is by far the most affirming communication I've received from a foreign government. They only offered to come here as a conciliation; it won't help relations if I take them up on that. There's no need for a massive delegation; it'll just be you and me. Yaxley and Malfoy are perfectly capable of holding down the fort."

"With all due respect, My Lord, you said that when we went to Spain," Bellatrix pointed out, and Voldemort tipped his head as he said,

"Things were just getting started when we went to Spain. It's different now."

"I can stay here," Bellatrix offered, but he shook his head firmly.

"No. You're coming with me."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed her head a little and swallowed heavily. She tried to think of how they'd get all the way to New York. It was too far to rely on a Portkey. Crossing the Atlantic by broom or unsupported flight would be perilous, uncomfortable, and slow. There were steamships, she knew. It was hardly the first bit of transportation that wizards had nicked from Muggles; the Hogwarts Express was based on an explicitly Muggle mode of transport. Bellatrix met Voldemort's eyes again and asked,

"How long does it take to sail there?"

"Sail?" he said, shaking his head. "No. We'll take an aeroplane. Much faster. I can't afford five days there and five days back."

"An… an aeroplane?" Bellatrix repeated, feeling a twist of unease in her stomach. "You mean those silver things in the skies over London?"

Voldemort appeared to stifle a little laugh, and he said reassuringly, "I've been in one. Ten years ago or so. It's not frightening at all, I promise. We'll be there in seven hours. Easy. We'll have to disguise ourselves as Muggles, of course, but…"

He trailed off then, and Bellatrix knew she must have looked grey-faced. Suddenly Voldemort reached across her desk and seized her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles as he promised her,

"It'll be fine, Bella. Fun, even. Who knows? And it's very necessary, you understand?"

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, feeling dizzy. Voldemort folded the letter from MACUSA and stood from his chair.

"I'm going to go handwrite a response," he said. "Arrange for a long-distance bird, will you? Oh, and we'll need to send memos to Yaxley and Malfoy and the Department of International Cooperation. Oh, and the Prophet."

He started to walk from the room, and Bellatrix called after him, "Wait… when are we going? I'll need to tell them all when we're going."

"Ah." Voldemort looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, "Right around Halloween, I reckon. Probably won't be able to properly arrange for aeroplane tickets and hotels and whatnot before then."

"Halloween," Bellatrix nodded, feeling numb. She watched Voldemort go, and once he did, she pulled the velvet cord in the corner to summon Dobby, the Malfoys' elf. She had a lot of letters to send, and she was badly in need of owls.

* * *

**Number Six, St Albans Grove, London**

**27 October 1971**

"Would you like me to help you sleep?"

Bellatrix froze at the sound of his gravelly voice. She rolled over, knowing she'd been fidgeting in the bed, and she said apologetically,

"I'm sorry I woke you, My Lord. I'm anxious."

"I don't blame you," he said, looking tired, "but if neither of us is rested, tomorrow's going to feel awfully long."

Tomorrow. The day when they'd travel to a Muggle airport, get on a piece of metal Muggle machinery and soar over the ocean to America. The day when they'd land in New York and Apparate to some luxurious Muggle hotel, where they'd spend the night before being picked up in the morning by a MACUSA honour escort. It was all very stressful, and very terrifying, and Bellatrix felt like she was drowning in water over her head.

She stroked at Voldemort's jaw, quite liking the feel of his rough hair beneath her fingers. She tried to distract herself from her anxiety by assuring him,

"I like the beard. It's very distinguished."

"Thank you," he said, pulling her hand from his face and kissing her knuckles. They stared at one another for a long while in the dim light. Bellatrix had meant it; she thought he was more attractive than ever with his neatly-cropped, perfectly grown greying beard. He looked nothing if not authoritative. She felt a little flush of want between her legs and blinked quickly, trying to will the feeling away.

"Would you like me to help you sleep?" Voldemort asked again, but Bellatrix shook her head.

"I don't want to be groggy in the morning," she said. Voldemort huffed and murmured,

"I didn't mean a potion, silly girl."

His hand trailed down the front of Bellatrix's nightgown beneath the blankets, his fingers pulling up the lacy hem and pushing into her knickers. Bellatrix gasped a little, realising what exactly he had meant.

"You're always sleepy afterward, aren't you?" he said, his tone almost mocking her. "It always makes you so very sleepy to come around my fingers, hm?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered, rolling onto her back beside him and spreading her legs apart. He using his free hand to wrench her knickers down beneath the blankets, and Bellatrix kicked them away to the recesses of the sheets. Voldemort's fingers were pressing on her nub, gliding around her entrance, caressing the lips of her womanhood, and she couldn't help but moan. She was completely wet within a short moment, and it only got worse when Voldemort dipped his head to kiss at the skin between her breasts.

She put her hands on his head, on his buzzed hair and then on his new beard, and she was more aroused than ever. He started to kiss her neck, and the feel of his moustache there made her whisper,

"I really, really like the beard."

He laughed against the skin, raising his eyes to meet hers as his fingers quickened. He quirked up half his mouth and asked,

"Do you really, really like it, Bella? Do you?"

"Mm-hmm." Her fingers cinched on the sheets and her back arched up a little, and a small sound came unbidden from between her lips. It felt so good, she thought, the way he was pressing just so over and over.

"I need to see you be vicious again," she heard him murmur, and it took everything she had to focus on his words. "I'll capture some random Muggle just to see you torture and kill him; I don't care. You're meant to be vicious. I need to see it again."

"All right." Bellatrix nodded. Thrusting her hips hard against his hand as she felt her climax come barrelling at her like a train. Her hands flew to his bare shoulders, and she squeezed hard as she came. She was whimpering and whispering nonsense, she knew, but she couldn't care. After a while, she felt him move between her legs, pulling his fingers from her and replacing them with his cock. She gasped at the feel of invasion, her fingers going straight to his lean stomach as he started to pump his hips.

"You'll kill for me again," he whispered, and Bellatrix nodded up at him, at the short neat beard and the short neat hair and the glimmering eyes.

"I'll kill for you again," she affirmed. He shut his eyes and reached for her wrists, pushing them down hard on the mattress as he collapsed forward a little. His hips moved faster, filling Bellatrix with more urgency, and he mumbled,

"I'm glad you're going with me."

To New York, he meant. He was glad that she was coming to New York with him. As if she had any other choice, Bellatrix thought. But then she realised that there could have been an existence in which he'd go to New York without her. Nobody had forced him to marry her. Nobody had forced him to present her to the public as his consort.

"My Lord," she said firmly, "I'll try… ahh! I'll try to make you proud."

"You will," he nodded, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut and hissing through clenched teeth as he came. He spent a long moment hovering above her, going soft inside of her as he continued pressing her wrists to the bed. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her gently, and whispered against her lips,

"I love you, Bellatrix. With all that I am. You have consumed me, like I am some sort of prey, and yet I don't mind it at all. I love you."

She was utterly overcome by that, and she found she had nothing of value to say in return. Voldemort collapsed onto the mattress beside her, and she studied him for a moment, thinking of how he'd expressed such a severe need to see her be cruel again.

"There will be battles. There will prisoners," she said. "You told me so. And when there are, I'll be vicious again."

He nodded, beckoning for her to curl up against him. She did, ignoring the way the proof of their intimacy was leaking down the inside of her leg.

"Will you be able to sleep now?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix stifled a yawn as she nodded.

"Yes, My Lord. I think so."

"Good," he said. "I'm damned tired. Get some rest."

"Goodnight, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered against the skin of his chest. He kissed her forehead and replied gently,

"Goodnight, Bella."

* * *

**Heathrow Airport, London**

**28 October 1971**

"Good morning, sir."

"Morning." Lord Voldemort drummed his fingers on the airline's check-in desk and said, "I'm picking up two tickets for the five o'clock to New York. The name is Black."

"Very good, Mr Black," said the middle-aged Muggle woman behind the counter. She opened a book with plastic slots and started to thumb through the section marked B. She pulled out two tickets and said tightly, "Miss, can you confirm your name and date of birth for me, please?'

Beside Voldemort, Bellatrix jolted a little at having been addressed by the Muggle woman. She nodded and said primly, "Bellatrix Black. Birthdate is twenty-first September, nineteen fifty-one."

"Very good. And you, sir?" The woman turned her attention to Voldemort, and he tried not to sneer as he said,

"Thomas Black. Thirty-first December, nineteen twenty-six."

"All right. We have you booked in first class, which means you'll be boarding first. How many bags will you be checking through to New York?" asked the woman.

"None," said Voldemort immediately. Then, realising it would seem odd to board an international flight with no luggage, he lied, "We're moving; everything's been shipped ahead."

"Ah. Of course," the woman said. Voldemort glanced at his briefcase and Bellatrix's handbag, both of which had been enchanted with Undetectable Extension Charms so they could pack as much as they wanted in small spaces. He adjusted his suit coat, feeling very foolish indeed in the ugly Muggle fashions that were current. The woman behind the desk stamped both boarding cards and slid them across the desk. "You'll be at gate seventeen here in this terminal. Boarding begins in forty-five minutes. Have a good flight."

"Thank you." Voldemort took the tickets and walked away briskly. Bellatrix trotted a little to keep up with him as he walked into the terminal. There was a dull haze of cigarette smoke, and Voldemort wrinkled his nose at the smell. It was not wizarding custom to smoke cigarettes, and that was one thing he didn't miss at all from his childhood. Nearly all the orphanage's matrons had smoked, and he could still remember the burn in his eyes and little cough that always came when the matrons filled the place with the refuse of their disgusting habit.

Bellatrix skidded to a halt once they were inside the terminal, and Voldemort realised why at once. She was staring at a television set that was playing a news broadcast. It was mounted on a high platform near the departure board, and Bellatrix stared in awe at it for so long that Voldemort knew people would start to notice.

"What is it?" she breathed as he stepped up beside her. He kept his voice low as he said simply,

"It's called a television. They use it to get the news, for entertainment. We didn't have… they didn't exist when I was a boy. They're a relatively new invention."

"Interesting," Bellatrix said, tipping her head. Voldemort slipped his hand into hers and pulled her away, mumbling,

"Do try to act like you've been around them before. The Muggles."

Bellatrix frowned up at him. "But I haven't been around them before, My Lord."

"Don't call me that," he hissed. "Someone will think I've kidnapped and brainwashed you or something. Just… try to act natural. I realise it's difficult."

He did, too. She had spent her entire life locked in the wizarding world. She had been born into a Pureblood family that hardly associated with Half-Bloods, much less with Mudbloods or actual Muggles. Bellatrix had been out and about in Muggle cities for very brief periods before, but even from her parents' house in London, most travel involved Floo or Apparition. She'd never been on the Muggle tube, nor ridden in an automobile. Even when they'd gone to Spain, they'd stayed in their own room nearly the whole time. She'd never picked up a telephone, or done laundry in machines, or gone grocery shopping, or seen a broadcast of football on the TV. Voldemort had tried his very best to leave his atrocious Muggle childhood behind, but there had been many years after he'd left Hogwarts during which close interaction with the Muggle world had been unavoidable. He knew these people; he knew their ways. Bellatrix did not.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her quietly. "There are forty-five minutes until boarding, and there's a little café up near the gate."

"I suppose I could eat something small," Bellatrix conceded. They waited in a queue at the café, and Bellatrix seemed fascinated again by the television that was in the space. This one was playing a rather raucous comedy show with a laugh track in the background. Bellatrix frowned a little as she watched a man take a pie to the face, and she asked,

"Is it meant to be funny?"

"Does it matter?" Voldemort demanded in a low clip. He gestured to the plastic window full of pastries and told her, "Choose what you want."

Bellatrix studied her options and shrugged. "A croissant, I suppose. And a hot tea."

"With honey?" he asked, and she seemed a little pleased that he knew how she liked her tea. She nodded, and Voldemort stepped up to the counter.

"Two croissants, an English Breakfast with honey in a to-go cup, and a decaf, please."

Bellatrix seemed very surprised by the ease with which he'd shifted into Muggle vernacular. Voldemort ignored her, for he wasn't proud of being able to interact with Muggles. He pulled a one-pound coins out and slid them across the counter as the pimple-faced Muggle employee made their order.

"Keep the change," he muttered, handing Bellatrix her paper-wrapped croissant and her foam cup of tea. The boy awkwardly thanked Voldemort for the tip, but the reality was just that he had no desire for small-denomination Muggle coins rattling in his pocket. He took his coffee and his own croissant and suggested, "Let's go wait at the gate."

"Erm… all right," Bellatrix nodded. She followed close behind him until they reached gate seventeen, and then she sat in one of the Bakelite chairs opposite him. Voldemort wordlessly sipped from the rancid-tasting coffee and chewed on the mostly-stale croissant. Bellatrix looked disgusted and put her croissant back in the bag after one bite.

"It's terrible," she complained, and Voldemort snorted a little laugh as he informed her,

"The food on the aeroplane won't be any better, so I suggest you eat it."

Bellatrix scowled and reluctantly picked up the croissant. They ate in silence for awhile, until Voldemort grew bored and decided to peek into a few of the Muggles' heads. He glanced at a snub-nosed woman walking by and ploughed into her mind with Legilimency, knowing the Muggle wouldn't be able to place the source of the buzzing or the ensuing nausea.

Walking in on her husband with a very pretty younger woman… throwing plates at the wall, shattering them one by one as she screamed at him to leave and never come back… telling him she was getting on an aeroplane and flying to her mother's house in Canada…

Voldemort pulled out of the woman's head and cleared his throat. Bellatrix gave him a curious look and asked,

"Everything all right?"

He nodded and took another bite of the terrible croissant, swigging down the last of his decaffeinated coffee. He nearly took his wand out to Vanish the trash, but he caught himself and asked Bellatrix,

"Have you finished?"

"Erm… yes," she said, and he plucked the empty cup and paper wrapping from her hands. He moved briskly to the rubbish bin outside the gate, and as he came back toward the chairs, he stopped for a moment.

They would adore her, he thought suddenly. The government officials he was meeting at MACUSA would be impressed by her poise, by her intelligence, by her beauty. She gave him another concerned look, and he finally sat opposite her and murmured,

"Just thinking about how glad I am that I've brought you with me. That's all."

"Oh." Bellatrix flashed him a shy little smile and said, "I know I seem nervous, but I'm excited, too. Yaxley and Malfoy will do just fine, and it's as you say. This sort of alliance is important."

"Very important," Voldemort nodded slowly.

"Attention Passengers - Flight 1288 to New York City will begin boarding momentarily. All first-class passengers, kindly proceed to the loading door with your tickets in hand. Thank you."

Bellatrix stared wide-eyed at the speaker from which the sudden grainy announcement had come. She turned her eyes to Voldemort and asked,

"Is that us?"

"That's us," he confirmed, rising from his chair and pulling their boarding cards from the inside pocket of his suit coat. It really was an awful garment, he thought again. Boxy with an ugly dark small houndstooth pattern. The airport was ugly, too. Everything was mouldy green or faded orange or the colour of baby vomit. Brown plastic and utilitarian style abounded. Muggles, he decided, had precisely no appreciation for timeless subtlety in decoration or attire.

He walked matter-of-factly toward the open door that led to the jet bridge, and he handed the boarding cards to the uniformed stewardess there. She glanced at the tickets, then up at Bellatrix and Voldemort, and she plastered on a very evidently feigned grin.

"Enjoy your flight."

Voldemort said nothing as he took the tickets back and tucked them away into his jacket again. He led Bellatrix down the jet bridge, and she looked more nervous than ever as she clutched at her handbag and trotted to keep up with him. He was surprised to see her like this, alarmed by the sound of the jets outside and startling like a cat at every small sound. But this was a foreign land to her, almost an alien planet, and he knew she was doing her best to act normally. He gestured for her to sit in the window seat of row three, which was the row they'd been assigned. Bellatrix slid into her spacious, reclining leather seat and stared out the window at the Muggles who were loading suitcases into the bottom of the aeroplane.

"If you intend on taking books out of the handbag, do it now whilst there's no one to see," Voldemort murmured, and Bellatrix opened her bag and gazed inside. She rifled around a little, and even to Voldemort it was a bit funny to see her arm disappear entirely into the bag. She pulled out three books and stacked them on her lap, putting her handbag on the ground. She held up one of the books to Voldemort and said,

"It's a novel by Philomena Winter. About the Goblin Rebellions. I read it and enjoyed it."

"Hm. Well, thank you for the recommendation." Voldemort took the book from her and drummed his fingers on the cover. Muggles started to come aboard the aeroplane, taking their seats one by one. Bellatrix watched them with a mixture of repulsion and fascination, seeming both interested and troubled by the way they did things.

He knew what she was thinking. How silly that there were petite Muggle women struggling to shove heavy bags into the overhead bins. How ridiculous their men looked trying to help and struggling just as hard. If Voldemort was honest with himself, they did seem like a motley bunch. There was a reason - more than one reason - that he'd left their world far behind him. He smirked as he turned to Bellatrix and whispered,

"It's only for a few hours."

She nodded and stifled a smile of her own. She seemed calm until the stewardesses performed an elaborate charade to demonstrate what would happen in the case of an emergency, and she leaned over to hiss,

"What if it crashes?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "It won't. And if it does, we will fly away and I will Conjure a boat and sail us back to Britain. All right?"

"All right," Bellatrix whispered. She seemed confident then that they were the only ones aboard who would survive a crash, and that seemed to bring her comfort. She was fine for another stretch, until the stewardesses insisted they fasten their seat belts for take-off. Bellatrix's fingers shook visibly as she fumbled with the awkward latch, and Voldemort finally reached over to fasten it for her. She nodded her thanks and gripped the arms of her leather seat tightly. She stared out the window as the aeroplane taxied toward the runway, and Voldemort covered her left hand with his right one.

"It'll be fine," he murmured. "We'll be in the sky in just a moment."

She nodded silently, but her face had gone white and her lips were trembling. He'd never seen her like this - so visibly frightened and uneasy. But, he supposed, he'd never seen her surrounded by unfamiliar sights and sounds and people, either. And she was still young. She'd never been thrust into a hostile world before. Voldemort supposed that to someone for whom a broomstick constituted daring transport, a jet-propelled metal tube must seem terrifying. And she did seem terrified.

"Bella," he whispered, and she finally turned her face from the window. The aeroplane started to accelerate down the runway, going faster and faster until the world outside was a blur. Voldemort squeezed at Bellatrix's hand, gave her a reassuring nod, and said, "Just look at me. Don't look out the window. Just look at me."

She did, though her dark eyes flashed wildly once the wheels went up with a bump. There was a stomach-churning lurch as the plane moved upward, and Bellatrix looked for a moment like she might cry. She shut her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, she turned her hand over on the arm of the seat and laced her fingers through Voldemort's. He flicked his eyes to the window, watching as they soared up through the sky. Once the clouds were an innocuous white blanket beneath them, he nodded at Bellatrix and said,

"Look outside."

She hesitated, still clinging to his hand as she finally turned her face. He felt her relax, watched her sink back against the seat, and she whispered,

"It's beautiful."

After about a half hour, the stewardess came by for drink orders. Voldemort thought it a very bad idea to give Bellatrix liquor, even if she was anxious. She might start talking about magic, or about Muggles, and they couldn't afford the headache of Obliviating witnesses. So he ordered himself a gin and tonic and insisted she get a Coca-Cola.

"What's a Coca-Cola?" Bellatrix hissed after the stewardess had gone. Voldemort shrugged and tried to think of the nearest wizarding analog.

"It's fizzy… like McSpratt's. But it's dark brown, and it tastes sweet, with a little bite. You'll like it."

She looked sceptical, but once the stewardess had brought the drinks, she sipped at the Coca-Cola, and her face erupted into pleased surprise.

"It's good," she nodded, sipping again. Voldemort couldn't help but be amused by her. She was so often cynical and moody. She was so Dark, by every definition of the word. Today she seemed like a child discovering the world for the first time. It was rather adorable, if Voldemort was honest, though of course the world she was discovering was inferior and evil.

They spent a few hours reading, and then the stewardess brought meals that seemed like prison fare. Even in first class, the meat was tough and the potatoes were cold. Bellatrix barely touched hers, though he tried to remind her again that she'd be hungry by the time they reached New York.

"Is all their food so terrible?" she wondered aloud, popping a potato into her mouth and wincing. Voldemort shrugged.

"I've eaten in a few good restaurants they run, but… for the most part, our food is much better."

They had to use vague terms in case anyone was listening, but he'd cast a wandless charm around their seats to encourage the Muggles to simply ignore them. After the stewardess came for the remains of their dinners, Voldemort folded up his tray and tipped his head back against his seat. He shut his eyes, deciding to grant himself an hour or so to simply relax. He listened to the gentle hum of the engines outside and wondered what it would be like to be received by MACUSA. Would they be as friendly as they'd made themselves seem in their letter? He was, of course, going into this diplomatic mission with his eyes open and his mind sharp. They could be trying to trap him, though he knew full well that most American wizards resented the pressures that had forced the repeal of Rappaport's Law a few years back. He knew he would have many staunch allies in the cause of separating the Magical and Muggle worlds. He could only hope that their President, Sabine Roche, was as amenable as she'd made herself out to be.

He opened his eyes and glanced down when he felt a gentle pressure against his bicep. Bellatrix had leaned over onto him to rest. He pulled up the thick leather armrest between them, reclined his seat a bit, and encouraged her to lay her head on his chest. He didn't know any of these Muggles, and he didn't care who saw him as he stroked her curls and kissed her forehead.

He never did fall asleep, though Bellatrix did. He was too busy thinking of what to say to the Americans and how to say it. Every now and then, he spent a few minutes watching Bellatrix sleep and marveling at just how pretty she was.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said a voice over the aeroplane's speakers after a while, "We will be landing in New York City in approximately twenty-five minutes. The local time in New York is 7:08 pm. Stewardesses will be along momentarily to collect any rubbish you may have in your seats. Thank you."

"Bella." Voldemort shook her shoulder carefully to rouse her, and Bellatrix blinked slowly as she sat up. She rubbed at her eyes and asked,

"How long was I asleep?"

"The entire second half of the flight," Voldemort said honestly.

"Well, your chest is rather comfortable," Bellatrix said, raking her fingers through her curls. She glanced out the window, her mouth falling open as she breathed, "There it is. That's New York City."

Voldemort glanced outside to see the glowing lamp of the Statue of Liberty and the familiar profile of the Empire State Building. Even those with no ties to the Muggle world knew the basics of New York.

"We'll be landing in twenty-five minutes," Voldemort informed Bellatrix. "Best put the books back in your bag."

She was furtive and cautious as she did, avoiding the lines of sight of the Muggles around them. She folded her hands in her lap and looked nervous again as she asked quietly,

"Where are we staying in the city?"

"We have a suite at the Waldorf Astoria," Voldemort said crisply. Bellatrix pursed her lips and hesitated before she asked,

"Is it nice?"

Voldemort let out a low, rumbling laugh and nodded. "Yes. It's very nice," he assured her. He reached to cover her hands with his and tipped his head. "This is an important trip, Bella, but… let's have fun, too, eh?"

"Yes, My Lord," she whispered, quietly enough that none of the Muggles could hear the honorific. Voldemort brought her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles as he said gently,

"Thank you, My Lady."

* * *

**Waldorf Astoria Hotel, New York City**

**28 October 1971**

"Oh, well… this is very nice. You were right." Bellatrix turned over her shoulder and smiled at Lord Voldemort, who winked at her and sent a shiver down her spine.

"Sir, should I go ahead and put the luggage in the master bedroom?" asked the bellman, and Voldemort nodded once. They'd Transfigured their bags once they'd Apparated into the quiet alley near the hotel, for Voldemort had said it would seem awfully suspicious to come to a luxury hotel with no luggage. The bellman carried Voldemort's newly-enlarged brown leather suitcase and Bellatrix's black leather duffel into the bedroom down the corridor.

Bellatrix glanced about at the large dining room, the sitting room - with a television! - and down the corridor to the bathroom. Down another corridor was another bedroom that would go unused, another bathroom, and what seemed like a sunroom or library. The suite was incredibly spacious, and it was outfitted with surprisingly understated furniture, curtains, and light fixtures.

"There is maid service twice daily," the bellman said, coming out of the master bedroom. "Once in the morning and once in the late afternoon, which will include turndown service. Should you require laundry services, simply place the items in the laundry bag in the master closet. Room service is available twenty-four hours a day; just call the front desk and they'll direct you. Is there anything I can do for you at the moment to make your stay more comfortable?"

"No. Thank you. You can go." Voldemort handed over a few folded American Muggle dollars, which surprised Bellatrix, but the bellman smiled crisply and said,

"Thank you, Mr Black. Enjoy your stay at the Waldorf Astoria. Welcome to New York."

Once he'd gone, Bellatrix let out a huff and noted,

"They're awfully energetic, these Muggles."

"The American ones more than most," Voldemort said. He glanced around the suite and nodded. "This will do fine. Are you hungry?"

Bellatrix hadn't realised until now just how very hungry she was. Her stomach rumbled at the very thought of food, and she nodded.

"We'll order room service, then," Voldemort said. "It's just like when House-Elves deliver food… only much slower, and you have to order off the menu."

Bellatrix made her way over to the grand window that was overlooking the city, and she pressed her fingers and forehead to the glass as she stared down. She was in awe for a few moments, taken aback by the scope and scale of New York, by the towering buildings and the glittering windows. She was shocked by the concentration of automobiles on the streets below, and she asked quietly,

"Why are there so many yellow ones?"

"Yellow ones," Voldemort repeated, seeming confused. Then he said from behind her, "Oh. Those are taxis. Like the black ones in London with the lights on top. They're for hire, and they take you where you want to go. We could have taken one from the airport, but we'd have been crawling through traffic for an hour. Instead, we Apparated and it was instantaneous. Do you see how inferior their technology is?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, but still she stared. Finally he asked sharply from behind her,

"Will you please come choose your dinner, Bellatrix? There will be plenty of time to ogle them later."

Bellatrix turned round and walked over to the writing desk where he'd opened a narrow leather book. He pointed to the page before him and said,

"Just choose anything off there."

Bellatrix perused her options. There was steak, of course, and moules-frites, which seemed like it would be messy. There were salads, but she was hungrier than that. Finally she said,

"I suppose I'll have the grilled salmon with asparagus and mashed potato."

"All right." Voldemort shut the book and picked up the telephone, which was a very interesting thing for him to do. Bellatrix stared in awe, listening to the dull sound of the telephone ringing in the bit he held up to his ear. A man's voice seemed to answer, and then Voldemort said sharply, "I'd like room service to Suite 28B, please."

There was a vague sound that resembled One moment please, then a strange, ugly tune that Bellatrix could hear even where she stood. Voldemort smirked, pulling the telephone away from his ear a little as he noted,

"Hold music."

Another voice answered, and Bellatrix thought this was the most inefficient process to obtain food she'd ever seen. Voldemort ordered for them - her salmon and his chicken - plus a bottle of Chardonnay. Once he'd hung up the telephone, he crossed his arms over his chest and told Bellatrix,

"It'll be forty-five minutes to an hour."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open with shock. "An hour to deliver food to a hotel room? Ridiculous."

Voldemort looked amused as he drummed his fingers on the desk and said, "Well, they do have to cook it, you know, and that's a slow process for them. Then they have to load it onto a cart and bring it up the lift, and… of course, I'll have to tip the man a few more dollars once he brings it."

"You're right. They're very primitive," Bellatrix nodded. But then her eyes drifted to the television set, and she asked meekly, "Can I turn it on?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Bella… it's all drivel. Pies in faces and the news, like you saw."

Bellatrix nodded and lowered her head, knowing that it was hardly worth arguing with him about a bit of Muggle technology, especially when they were so far from home. He sighed and pulled out his wand, flicking it toward the television so that the dials and knobs turned.

A programme was just getting started - something called the Mary Tyler Moore Show, according to the words on the screen. Bellatrix found herself walking slowly into the sitting room, sinking into a chair as she stared at the glowing box before her.

The show was about a young woman in a city called Minneapolis. She was working as a television news writer, and this particular episode of the show featured the woman, Mary, taking extra courses to cement her job security. Naturally, the instructor of the class became enamoured by Mary, but it led nowhere as she refused his advanced. The show ended, with jolly credits playing as someone on the station announced that something called "All in the Family" would be airing next.

The screen went black, and Bellatrix glanced up to see Lord Voldemort standing with his wand aimed at the television. He stared at Bellatrix for a moment, lowered his wand, and warned her,

"Do not allow yourself to become fascinated by things like this, Bellatrix. It's how they numb their minds. It's how they babysit themselves. Stupid, mindless images on a screen to make up for the fact that they die in their automobile crashes. Unsophisticated comedy aimed at people who want to forget that if they haven't got enough of their currency, they'll starve or have no clothing. These Muggles are animals, Bellatrix; don't let their glowing box of wonder tell you any differently."

Bellatrix nodded and rose from the chair. "I'm sorry, My Lord. You're quite right; I allowed myself to get caught up in the strangeness of it all. But it just that. Strange. Not beautiful, not wondrous. Just strange. I know who I am. Who you are. What we fight for."

"Intelligent little thing," Voldemort nodded. He glanced down the corridor to the master bedroom and suggested, "Why don't you go unpack? We're going to be here for a week; you don't want to be living out of an Expanded suitcase, do you?"

She flashed him a wordless smile and made her way to the bedroom. It was plush, with heather greys and feathery blues on all the drapery and bed linens. There was a grey-and-blue rug on the ground that looked freshly cleaned, and the electric lamp beside the bed was elegant enough. Bellatrix's suitcase had been placed by the bellman on a folding piece of furniture that seemed specially designed for just this purpose. She unlatched her bag and started pulling out clothes, making her way to the built-in wardrobe to hang them.

Black. She'd brought all black. It was important that she look elegant and solemn on the arm of her master. She'd brought a knee-length sheath dress with a black tweed jacket, black chiffon robes that were the antithesis of Muggle fashion, and everything in between. She'd brought low, practical heels, formal boots, and black ballet-style flats. She'd brought hair ornaments and jewelry - most importantly the serpent necklace that she had around her neck even now. She put everything away with smooth flicks and swishes of her wand, directing objects to the wardrobe and the boudoir table and the drawers of the bureau.

She eyes Voldemort's bag and wondered if he'd prefer to put his clothes away himself. She knew he wouldn't be angry if he did it for him, so she opened his suitcase and started hanging up his suits and outer robes, his dress shirts and ties. She put his socks and underwear and pyjamas into drawers, put his shoes at the bottom of the closet, and sent his shaving kit and toothbrush down the corridor to the bathroom.

She ambled back out of the bedroom to see that the food had arrived. A hotel staff member had rolled it in on a silver cart and was moving as quickly as he could to set the table. Voldemort flicked his eyes up to Bellatrix and rolled them, for even with the Muggle moving as swiftly as possible, the process seemed awfully slow. Bellatrix tried not to giggle as she approached the dining room. The staff member nodded politely to her and pulled out her chair.

"Thanks," Bellatrix mumbled, sitting down and putting her napkin in her lap. Voldemort sat opposite her and nodded his approval when the Chardonnay was sampled. Finally he handed the staff member a few dollars and said flatly,

"Please leave."

"Yes, sir. Have a fine evening," said the young man who had brought the food. A wheel on his cart squeaked a bit as he pushed it away and shut the main door behind him. Voldemort stared across the table at Bellatrix for a moment, saying nothing. His eyes seemed to be searching hers for something, and she asked,

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes," he said simply. Bellatrix glanced down at her salmon and told him,

"I put your things away. I hope that's all right."

"Thank you," he murmured, starting to cut into his chicken. Bellatrix ate a few bites of her salmon, which was slightly overdone, and then ate a few spears of asparagus and some of the mashed potato. She finished her glass of wine and declared,

"I'm nervous about tomorrow."

Voldemort nodded, setting down his knife and fork. "So am I," he admitted. "We need to be ready for anything."

"Surely they'll adore you," Bellatrix said helplessly, but Voldemort shrugged.

"I do not require the adoration of the Americans. I merely require that they prove themselves to be amiable for trade and diplomacy. Have you finished eating?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort pulled out his wand. He Vanished all the plates and glassware, and Bellatrix gasped as she blurted out,

"What did you do that for? They'll wonder what's happened to their -"

"Someone came and got it," Voldemort shrugged, tipping his head. "I have no desire for more Muggle paeans to come parading into my suite, Bellatrix. If they're confused about who picked up the dishes from 28B, that's not my problem."

Bellatrix scoffed out a little laugh at that and shrugged. "All right, then. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take a shower. Long flight and all."

"We'll use spells to clean ourselves up tonight," Voldemort said tightly. "No need for soap and water; we've perfectly good magic to accomplish the same goal with more efficiency. Besides, we've an early morning and we need to adjust to the time zone."

Bellatrix knew why he was refusing them both showers. He disliked being in the Muggle world. That was obvious. He needed to ground himself in his magic, in the world that they both knew, the world over which he presided. Bellatrix followed him silently to the master bedroom, and when he started to strip off his clothes, she did the same.

"Put the clothes in the laundry hamper. Ha." He shook his head derisively as he laid out his ugly suit coat, his shirt, tie, and trousers on the bed. He aimed his wand at them all and said firmly, " _Scourgify. Lenis. Recreo. Fragrans_."

He did the same to Bellatrix's clothes, then Banished them all to hang up in the wardrobe. He cast the same spells, plus a few to neaten hair and moisturise the skin, on their bodies. He even Scoured their teeth and freshened their breath. Bellatrix quirked up half her mouth at him as she stood naked and clean before him.

"You're right. You're always right," she said. "Magic is much better."

Voldemort looked down to the table beside the bed and frowned at the electric lamp. Its light was abrasive, aggressive almost, and Bellatrix had to admit that she did not like it. Voldemort sighed heavily, raised his wand to the air before him, and drew a careful line.

"Lucerna," he said quite firmly, and suddenly a brass lantern with frosted glass began to materialise. Bellatrix watched in wonder as Voldemort caught the floating lantern from the air and murmured, "Luxardens."

A peaceful glowing light appeared in the lantern, more steady than a flame but far gentler than the Muggles' lights. Voldemort reached down and flicked the switch to shut off the electric lamp. He set the lantern of his own making on the table, and suddenly the master bedroom was bathed in a beautiful, subtle glow. Bellatrix stared at her husband, at the lord who had earned his place above them all, and she marveled,

"You're magnificent."

He shook his head. "That's a required Transfiguration to pass your NEWT. Not especially sophisticated."

"Well," Bellatrix pointed out, "I never took my Transfiguration NEWT."

"No. You were too busy killing my enemies and becoming the wife of the Dark Lord," he said. "I do hope you're not bitter about that."

"The farthest thing from bitter," Bellatrix whispered. He set his wand down and pushed her carefully onto the bed, bending to kiss her and tasting perfectly fresh as he did. Bellatrix put her hands to his short, neat beard and hummed against his mouth as he arranged their bodies side-by-side.

"My Lord," she whispered, suddenly overcome by a burning question in the back of her mind. "Do those letters you get mean anything?"

"Letters." Voldemort scowled as he pulled away. "What are you talking about?"

Bellatrix felt very embarrassed as she picked at the blanket and recited, "It would be the greatest honour of all to know that I'd brought the Dark Lord himself some degree of bodily pleasure, to know that I had been responsible for -"

"Bellatrix." He sat up, looking very angry all of a sudden. He shrugged and scoffed, "You think I'm any more affected by the girlish ramblings of idiot witches than I am by wizards' entreaties for places in my government? It's all the same, isn't it? Self-serving, pathetic nonsense. You think I want them? Those silly woman? I'm offended."

Bellatrix knew he was telling the truth, and she nodded where she lay. "I'm sorry, My Lord. It's just that I open at least two or three of them every day. Sometimes it's difficult not to become a little jealous or worried. You're so powerful, and you deserve everything, and they want to give it to you."

"Poor little thing," he whispered down to her, "not to realise that you are everything. I never touched a witch before you, Bella, and I'll never touch one besides you. You think I would have married you in the way I did - permanently and completely - if I'd ever want anyone else? Don't do that to me. Not tonight. I've important things to think about for tomorrow. This can't be one of them."

Bellatrix squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her cheeks go hot. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry."

"Bella…" He bent down, and his breath was warm on her neck and her collarbone. He kissed her there, making Bellatrix shiver as she touched his face and his hair and his shoulders. His voice was a hum against her breast as he told her, "I fell in love with you well before I realised it. Did you know that?"

"No," she admitted, feeling breathless. He pulled her hand to his cock and encouraged her to stroke him there. She did, feeling him get harder by the moment. She opened her eyes and turned her face to look at him. He licked his bottom lip and said,

"I only wrote it to you when I couldn't keep the word in any longer, but it happened well before then. Looking back… mmmph… looking back, I was already in love with you the day you left for… for your seventh year of school."

He tipped his head back then, pushing his hips against Bellatrix's hand. He was so hard now that it felt like his cock was made of stone, and Bellatrix herself had gone utterly wet at the feel of it. She studied his face, his partly greying beard and his glittering eyes, and she asked quietly,

"How do you know? How do you know that you already loved me then?"

"Because it physically hurt when you left," Voldemort admitted. He crushed her mouth hard with a kiss then, and it felt like he was pouring sustenance into her being. He yanked at her body until she was up atop him, and he slid easily into her body as she dipped down onto him. She started to move, to cycle her hips slowly, and he drove his head back against the pillows. He reached for her waist, his fingers shaking as they trailed up and down her ribs.

"When I tried to keep you away," he said, "for months… months of torture… it was because I was afraid of you. Afraid of what I felt for you, and I didn't know what it was. I didn't know I loved you then, but I know it now."

"You don't have to talk like this," Bellatrix insisted, feeling her eyes well. His hands squeezed at her waist, and his eyes were stern as he told her,

"I'll do whatever I damned well please."

She nodded, and for awhile she moved slowly and deliberately atop him. After a while, the tension coiling in her abdomen grew so intense that she had to move faster. She tipped forward, leaning heavily on her hands as she bucked her hips with quick, shallow movements. Voldemort liked that; his hands slid down to her backside and his fingertips dug into her flesh as he groaned.

"Do you… remember what I told you…" he panted, meeting her gaze, "the day I married you?"

He'd said a lot of things that day. They both had. Bellatrix shook her head, unable to think straight, and whispered,

"What did you say?"

"There wouldn't be any wife… if it wasn't you," Voldemort said, hissing through his clenched teeth as he wrenched Bellatrix down harder. She was overcome by the sudden force of her climax, and she sat up straight and arched her back as her body cinched around the Dark Lord's manhood. She was dizzy and everything was hot and white, and when she looked down, she realised he was finishing, too. His face was contorted as though he were in pain, and his hands had gone limp on her backside.

Bellatrix stayed atop him for a long moment, catching her breath and dragging her trembling fingers over Voldemort's heaving chest. Finally he slipped out of her and she rolled onto her back beside him, mumbling her thanks when he cleaned her back up with his wand. She crawled beneath the blankets, deciding she'd sleep naked tonight, and once she'd curled up beside Voldemort, she murmured,

"I'm sorry, My Lord."

He'd know what she meant. He sucked air in slowly through his nostrils and then released the breath slowly, staring up at the ceiling as he told her,

"I would not be visiting MACUSA on a diplomatic mission if it weren't for you, Bellatrix. Don't argue that point with me; it's a fact. I've needed you for so many reasons. More reasons than I ever wanted to need another person. But I don't mind, and I won't mind in the future, because I do love you. And I don't mind that, either. Let the silly women send their silly letters. Read them and laugh at them and know they'll never experience anything like what you and I have achieved. Know that there is only you, that there will only ever be you, and then throw those letters into the fire or Vanish them. You understand?"

Bellatrix tried not to cry as she pressed her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. "I understand, My Lord."

"Get some rest," he instructed her in a bland tone. "Big day tomorrow."

* * *

**Waldorf Astoria Hotel**

**29 October 1971**

_Bellatrix had taken some sort of awful curse, something Voldemort couldn't identify. She was lying still and cold on the ground, and even after he'd killed everyone else, he found himself paranoid, glancing furtively around as he flew to her side. He knelt beside her and shook her._

_'Look at me, Bellatrix!' he exclaimed, and her eyes barely opened as she croaked,_

_'Don't use my Horcrux. Please… please just let me die. Don't use it.'_

_'You don't know what you're saying; you're wounded,' Voldemort said dismissively, shaking his head and putting a hand to her cold jaw. 'You'll be fine. I just need to get you home and… Bella. Bella?'_

_She wasn't breathing. He pulled her up against him and felt at her neck for a pulse, but there was nothing._

_'Bellatrix,' he whispered frantically, thinking that he needed to get to the Doxy's Nest at once to get her bracelet. But her soul was already gone. He could feel that. She was dead, really and truly._

_He rocked back and forth and cried like a child and let his tears flow into her black curls as she went stiff and icy in his arms. He kept begging her to wake up, but she never did. Eventually he set her back down on the ground in the deserted room and lay beside her, staring at her empty eyes, unwilling to accept that he'd lost her._

Voldemort gasped and sat up quickly, feeling so sick that he flew from the bed. He rushed through the suite's master bedroom into the bathroom, his mind flooded with images of Bellatrix's corpse in his arms. He very nearly vomited, but he managed to hold himself together enough to turn on the sink and splash cold water over his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, and suddenly he was joined by a second face. Bellatrix had come into the bathroom from the bed, and she rubbed at his bare arm with one hand, looking very uneasy.

"I'm sorry to wake you," Voldemort mumbled. "Bad dream."

"I know," Bellatrix nodded, and when he looked confused, she said, "I died. You were holding me and I died."

Voldemort let the cold water drip from his face and sniffed. They'd shared dreams before, but never one as gruesome as this. He still wasn't exactly sure why it was that their minds would sometimes link up during sleep. He wasn't entirely sure that he even wanted to know. For some reason, it was mildly comforting that he hadn't endured that particular nightmare on his own.

"It would never happen like that," he said quietly. "I would never let you die."

Bellatrix chewed her lip and nodded at him in the mirror. "It was just a dream."

Voldemort sighed and flicked his eyes back out into the bedroom. The electric clock beside the bed read 6:01. They may as well stay awake now, he reckoned. He silently opened his leather bag of toiletries and pulled out his wooden toothbrush and his glass jar of tooth powder. He wet the brush and opened the jar of powder, but then he paused and turned to look at Bellatrix. He let his eyes trail from her curls to her feet and back up to her face, and he realised they were both still naked from the night before. He swallowed hard and suggested,

"Take a shower with me, will you? I need to… I have to relax or this meeting won't go well."

Bellatrix nodded fervently, and Voldemort shut his jar of tooth powder. He summoned up his powerful magic to cast wandless spells on himself and Bellatrix, so their mouths would be clean enough for kissing. He needed to kiss her right now, he reckoned.

He stepped into the large shower and turned on the taps, knowing it would take the Muggle plumbing in the high-rise a few moments to get hot. He stared at Bellatrix for another moment, noting the regretful look in her eyes. She shifted on her feet and said softly,

"What would happen if you did use it?"

The Horcrux, she meant. What would happen if he used her Horcrux.

"I don't really know," he said honestly. It would have been a lie to say anything else. "I don't want to find out."

Bellatrix blinked a few times but seemed to know better than to ask any more questions about the awful dream. She followed him into the shower, and he picked up the little bottle of shampoo from the shelf in the wall.

"So much plastic," he lamented. "They use so very much plastic, and all it does it clog up pipes and landfills and oceans."

"What's plastic, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort smirked a little. When he'd been a boy, Muggle plastics had been brand-new and rare. Most things were still glass or metal, as they still were in the wizarding world. He handed Bellatrix the shampoo bottle, and she squeezed at its strange texture.

"It's made out of petroleum," Voldemort said, and when Bellatrix scowled, he elaborated, "The black sludge beneath the ground. They turn it into fuel for their automobiles… into plastics. They do all sorts of things with it."

"My shampoo at home is in a glass bottle," Bellatrix noted. "Why don't they just use glass?"

Voldemort took the bottle from her and dropped it rather purposefully onto the tile floor of the shower. Bellatrix winced, expecting it to break. When it didn't, she pouted a little and said,

"I suppose that's convenient, though you could easily charm a glass bottle not to break."

"They can't charm anything," Voldemort pointed out. He wandlessly Summoned the bottle back up into his hand and said, "Besides, plastic is cheap and convenient, and there's nothing Muggles like more - especially American Muggles - than when things are cheap and convenient."

"They're rather garish in that way," Bellatrix sighed. She was shivering a little, so Voldemort stepped aside and let her have a turn under the water. She struggled with the plastic bottle for a moment, and he finally took it from her and flicked at the pop-open lid. He took her hand in his and squeezed some of the creamy shampoo into her palm. She flashed him a grateful look and rubbed it into her curls, scrubbing at her scalp and lathering it through her thick mane. When she moved under the water again to rinse the shampoo away, Voldemort had to catch his breath.

She was so beautiful like this, he thought. She was beautiful all the time, every time he saw her, but after the dream they'd shared, he needed to see her like this. He needed to see the way the water streamed down her neck and over her breasts. He needed to see how she shut her eyes beneath the water and raked conditioner through her thick hair with her delicate fingers.

He grabbed her rather impulsively, pulling her by the waist so that she yelped softly and stared up at him. He just held her for a moment, staring down at her as the water fell over them both.

"You're to call her Madam President," he whispered. "Roche. The President of MACUSA."

"Madam President," Bellatrix nodded. "And we're being picked up by Toby Mills, who's the… Chairman of the Department of International Magical Relations. Have I got that right?"

"Yes," Voldemort said. The terms they used here were just slightly off, just different enough to lead to a gaffe. He ran his hands up and down Bellatrix's slick back and assured her, "Don't worry, Bella. You won't embarrass me."

"Are you certain?" She seemed awfully frightened as she raised her hands up to his close-cropped beard and rubbed gently at his jaw. He let out a shaking breath and nodded.

"I'm certain."

* * *

MACUSA, as it turned out, was an extravagant headquarters. It made sense, of course, that the wizarding government of a country as large and populous as America would have complex and sophisticated headquarters. But Voldemort couldn't help thinking, as he was escorted through the airy and elegant building, that perhaps the British Ministry could use some redecorating.

"If you'll just follow me this way, we'll be heading up to the President's office," said Toby Mills, who seemed very young to be heading up the department on international relations. In fact, Mills couldn't have been a day older than twenty-five. But he was charismatic and friendly, and he hadn't shown a lick of insult when Voldemort had peered into his head at the Waldorf-Astoria. Voldemort had found no hint of Occlumency in the young man, and neither had he found any treachery, any sign that this was a trap. So he gestured for Bellatrix to go first into the lift after Mills, and the great Lord Voldemort went last.

The goblin operating the lift seemed to know that this was a very important visitor, so he said nothing when Toby Mills said rather sharply,

"We're headed to President Roche's office, please."

The lift rocketed skyward, up past the fountains and statues and floating clocks. Bellatrix gazed out of the lift, entranced, and Toby Mills gazed at her. Voldemort frowned a little, uneasy with the intensity of the young man's stare. He cleared his throat a little and noted,

"It was clever to put the headquarters inside a Muggle skyscraper. When did MACUSA move to this location?"

"Oh, well. Our headquarters have been moved five times throughout our history, sir," said Toby Mills cheerfully. "First we were in rural locations, and after a few more moves, MACUSA settled here in 1892. The No-Majs call this the Woolworth Building."

Voldemort flashed a tiny smile of feigned interest and folded his hands in front of his flowing black robes. He and Bellatrix had both dressed professionally today, with her in a black pencil skirt and blouse and a neatly tailored outer robe. She had her hair pulled into a chignon at the base of her neck, with a few curls strategically falling around her face. She wore no makeup besides ruby lipstick, and she'd worn heels. Frankly, Voldemort couldn't blame Mills for staring.

The lift's grate door opened, and Bellatrix took the initiative to step out first. Voldemort followed her, and once Toby Mills came out, they followed him down a luxurious corridor of pale marble and Art Deco light fixtures.

"The headquarters were designed decades ago, and unfortunately some parts were victim to the No-Maj styles of the times," Toby Mills lamented as they walked. "President Roche has proposed that some of the 'trendier' parts of the headquarters be remodeled; she prefers that the wizarding world not copy fleeting fashions from the No-Majs."

"That's wise," Voldemort nodded. Finally they came to the end of the corridor, and Toby Mills pressed a large brass button on the wall. The enormous black stone doors before them slid open, and Voldemort felt a little twinge of envy. His office at Malfoy Manor wasn't nearly as grand as this. He thought that perhaps when he went home, he should construct a grand residence and workspace for himself. If he was to exist like a king, a monarch reigning from outside the government bureaucracy, he deserved a palace. At the very least, he deserved an office as nice as this one. He was glad, all of a sudden, that he hadn't accepted the Americans' offer to receive them in Britain.

"Mr Mills," said a hoarse voice, and when Voldemort glanced down, he saw a uniformed goblin nod up to the department head who had escorted them here. The goblin flicked his eyes to Voldemort and then to Bellatrix and bowed his head. "Lord Voldemort. Madam Black. The President will be honoured to receive you now in her conference room. This way, please."

Bellatrix seemed impressed that there was yet another corridor before the actual offices, and Voldemort couldn't blame her for her wonderment. He tipped his head up, projecting as much confidence as he could when he and Bellatrix were finally led into the spacious, well-light conference room. Inside were two middle-aged wizards and a witch who was much older than Voldemort was expecting. This was President Sabine Roche, he knew. She was aged but elegant in her dark pink robes, her silver hair tied up elegantly. She gave Voldemort and Bellatrix a very warm smile, and the wizards looked rather awestruck.

"Madam President," said Voldemort smoothly, bowing to her as the goblin left, "What an honour it is. Thank you very kindly for the invitation."

"The pleasure is ours," said Roche. "It's wonderful to meet you at last. We've heard so much. Madam Black."

She held out a hand to Bellatrix, who shook it carefully. Bellatrix gave the older witch a nervous smile and said,

"Your headquarters are magnificent, Madam President. We were just discussing them on the lift ride. Very impressive."

"Thank you," President Roche smiled. She gestured to the wizards beside her and said, "Please allow me to introduce our Vice President, Baxter Schwartz and our Secretary for No-Maj Relations, Kent Westman."

"It's nice to meet you, sir," said Kent Westman, shaking Voldemort's hand. His accent was thick, and Voldemort recognised it at once as the sort of thing from Muggle films. A cowboy. This man sounded like a cowboy. He managed not to laugh at the strange speech and instead just nodded, shaking Baxter Schwartz's hand, as well. Once all the pleasantries were through, everyone sat around the conference table. Sabine Roche sat at one end, and Voldemort took it upon himself to sit at the other. He may be a guest, but he was also the head of wizarding Britain. No one seemed to mind his choice of seat. Bellatrix sat beside him, and Toby Mills sat on her other side. Opposite them were the two middle-aged wizards.

"So," Sabine Roche said matter-of-factly. "I explained a bit in my letter, but… you're familiar with Rappaport's Law, I assume?"

"I am," Voldemort nodded. "It kept your community separated from the Muggles. The No-Majs. You were forced to rescind most of its provisions, no?"

"Almost all of them, starting in 1964," Roche said.

"The No-Majs here in America had quite a tumultuous period of civil unrest during those years," said Kent Westman in his thick accent. "Unfortunately, a lot of witches and wizards picked up on all that. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, we had protests here at the headquarters. Sometimes violent. Demanding that we allow marriage between Magical people and No-Majs, that we admit No-Maj-Borns to Ilvermorny School, that we allow fraternisation and friendship between the Magical and No-Maj worlds."

"May I ask… and I do not mean to sound disrespectful," Voldemort said delicately, "Why is it that these protests were not simply… suppressed?"

"We tried," said Baxter Schwartz. "The administration at the time was extremely sympathetic to the overhauls. Over the last few years, there's been a lot of regret. A lot of people feel endangered by the interactivity. They feel like the community they've grown up in is being melded into a completely different world. It's part of why President Roche and I were installed just two years ago. People wanted a change. Well… actually, they want things back the way they were."

"So do you mean to legislate it all over again?' asked Bellatrix, and Voldemort was rather surprised by her boldness. "Do you mean to write a new version of the law reinstating the restrictions?"

"Unfortunately, it's not quite as simple as that," said Kent Westman. "It's like… once you give people something, you can't take it away, you know?"

"With all due respect," Voldemort said, "We are, even now, doing in Britain what you propose is impossible."

The others looked a little confused, and Bellatrix smiled a bit as she pointed out,

"When I was in school at Hogwarts, which was not so very long ago, I was made to attend with Mudbloods. Muggle-borns. But there aren't any more of them at the school. The school's administration has been replaced and the policy has changed. It's as simple as that."

"And y'all haven't had any… riots?" asked Kent Westman with disbelief. Voldemort scoffed a little and shrugged.

"Of course we have. But we have spells and incantations in Britain to put down riots. I'm sure you have them here, too."

"So you're suggesting that the solution is not legislative, but simply brute force?" asked Sabine Roche, and Voldemort tried not to sound condescending as he informed her,

"Madam President, when has real, true reconquering of a fallen society ever happened without brute force?"

She didn't seem to have an answer for that. She nodded and glanced to Toby Mills as she said, "Many international governments have recognised the new authority in Britain."

"It's true," Mills nodded. He glanced over to Voldemort and asked, "Sweden finally got onboard?"

Voldemort smirked and shook his head. "The last rebels. I'm not holding my breath for Sweden."

"No, I bet not," Mills said. He turned back to Sabine Roche and said, "It might make some of the other governments jittery… changing the actual structure and the name."

"The structure and the name," Voldemort repeated. Then he realised what they meant. He steadied himself and stared Sabine Roche straight in the eye. "You mean to conduct an internal coup? You're going to dismantle your government from the inside out?"

"MACUSA's bureaucracy is broken," Sabine Roche said carefully. "There is no peaceful path to effectively separate the wizarding and No-Maj worlds again. Our country is too large to try and physically force the issue. All we can do is tear the government apart and start fresh. Anyone who won't follow our rules will be conducting their lives… unofficially. Illegally."

Voldemort quirked up his mouth. "You asked me to come here to lend support to this revolution. So that when your coup happens, Britain will declare support and encourage other countries to follow."

Roche let out a long, shaking sigh. "Lord Voldemort, I do hope you can see the position we're in. We want our community back. We can't take it back within the existing scaffold. We have to dismantle this established government and form a new one for witches and wizards alone. Can I count on your support when the time comes?"

Voldemort glanced at Bellatrix, who was wide-eyed but silent. He licked his bottom lip and turned his eyes back to President Roche.

"Yes," he said. "You can count on my support, Madam President."

* * *

**MACUSA Headquarters, New York**

**30 October 1971**

"Madam Black, can I get you something to eat or drink?" asked Toby Mills. Bellatrix glanced over to him from where she stood in the reception area of President Roche's offices. She waved her hand dismissively and said,

"Thank you just the same. I've had luncheon already."

Mills nodded and flashed her a little smile. They'd both been banished from the President's office for today's meetings, but Bellatrix understood why. Lord Voldemort's ascent to power had been implemented by many facilitated by many soldiers, but it hadn't been planned by committee. He needed to meet privately with Sabine Roche so they could both speak frankly and get down to the brass tacks of what revolution involved.

"If you don't mind me asking," said Toby Mills suddenly, "Do you regret leaving school early?"

It was a bizarrely personal question, and Bellatrix scoffed a bit as she felt her cheeks go warm with embarrassment. She shrugged. "I left Hogwarts to marry my lord and master and fight with him. Why would I prefer a set of scores on some exams over that life?"

"Yeah. Of course!" Mills nodded vigorously and said, "Sorry. That was a rude question. I'm just bored."

Bellatrix gave him an awkward little smile and huffed out a sigh. "What made you want to join this movement? I mean… the movement that President Roche has in place?"

Mills looked thoughtful for a moment, his thin face scrunching a little as he considered his words carefully. "I had just left Ilvermorny when Rappaport's Law was abolished," he said. "All of a sudden, I was thrown into this world where we were supposed to interact with the No-Majs, to tolerate them marrying witches and wizards, but we're still beholden to the International Statute of Secrecy. It's like... you can't have it both ways. You can't say that we have this world of magic that we keep secret from No-Majs at large, except for the few ones we let in. It doesn't work in practise, especially in a country in America."

"It wasn't working in Britain, either," Bellatrix said firmly. "Our society had been consumed by accommodating Muggles and Mudbloods. The Dark Lord is fixing that now."

"He seems like a strong leader," Mills nodded. "He seems like a good man."

"He is," Bellatrix nodded. The door to the reception room opened then, and Lord Voldemort appeared in the threshold, looking rather stressed. He stared at Toby Mills for a moment, and by the way Mills shifted on his feet and frowned, Bellatrix could tell Voldemort was in his head. She was worried all of a sudden, and she took a few steps toward her master.

"Meetings are all through, Bella," said Voldemort crisply. "Let's go enjoy our last day at the Waldorf Astoria, shall we?"

Last day? Bellatrix scowled with confusion. They weren't meant to leave for three more days. Something had gone wrong. She knew better than to ask any questions, and she certainly knew better than to look back toward Toby Mills. She followed Voldemort quickly through the corridors. They knew their way around by now. She followed him into the lift and stayed silent as the goblin operating it took them to the main level. She said nothing as she trotted behind him across the shiny floor in the busy atrium, down the steps, and out the front door. He snatched her hand and dragged her away from the building to a quiet alley. He Disapparated, taking her with him. Bellatrix tried to steady herself through the momentary pinch and whirl, and she landed hard on her knees as they slammed into the sitting room of their suite at the Waldorf Astoria.

"What's happened?" Bellatrix finally asked, heaving herself to her feet. Voldemort started to pace, waving his hand rather dismissively at her.

"It's fine," he insisted. "Things got a bit… tense. During the last meeting."

"What's happened?" Bellatrix asked again, taking his forearms in her hands so he would stop pacing. He sighed heavily and shrugged.

"Roche wants more than just my written support of her coup."

"Wands," Bellatrix nodded. "She wants your soldiers, since they've just been through an overthrow of their own."

"I can't spare them, obviously," Voldemort said. "I'm only just beginning to cement my own rule. I need every wand I can have in Britain. It's no wonder Americans have a reputation for selfishness. In any case, I assured Roche that we're allies, that we have the same goals, and that she'll have my complete support once her coup has occurred. That's all there was to say about it. No need for us to linger here in New York any longer."

"So we're going home?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort nodded.

"You stay up here," he said. "I'm going to change… make myself look a bit more Muggle, and I'll go get aeroplane tickets arranged through the concierge downstairs."

"Right. Of course," Bellatrix nodded. She hesitated for a moment, planting her hands firmly on Voldemort's chest as she noted, "Not all of the Americans are oblivious. Toby Mills said you seemed like a very good leader."

"How magnanimous of him." Voldemort rolled his eyes and pointed out, "He was also lusting wildly after you when I walked into that room."

Bellatrix laughed a little. "No, he wasn't."

"Do you doubt my Legilimency?" Voldemort snapped, and Bellatrix shook her head as she started to pull her hands away from him. He seized her wrists, rubbing a little at her Dark Mark and sending a shock of want straight through her. He tipped his head and sounded more than a little angry as he sneered,

"It doesn't matter. That stupid man's never going to lay eyes on you again. He's probably going to get himself killed in the next few weeks. Roche doesn't have the manpower, not compared to their opposition. That's why there won't be any grand public statements about this visit when we go home, Bellatrix. The American wizarding world is about to fall in on itself. They're lucky we don't sweep in and take over."

"Why don't we?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort snorted a little laugh.

"Because, little thing," he said, "We have our own power to consolidate. Now, let me go ensure we're on a flight out this damned city tomorrow, eh?"

* * *

" _CRUCIO!"_

_Bellatrix's wand exploded with a violent flash of scarlet light. It curled and wrapped around the frail wizard on the ground. She held the spell, her eyes burning with determination. She listened with glee to the wizard's shrieking, and it only egged her on. Then she turned her face and saw Lord Voldemort in the corner of the room, seated in an armchair with his trousers down around his hips. His cock was out and hard, and he stroked himself quickly as he watched Bellatrix word._

_"Don't stop, little thing," he murmured, and Bellatrix strengthened the Cruciatus Curse that she was using. The light more crimson, more vivid, and she could feel her magic transforming into pure pain. The wizard's crying stopped, and his twitching stilled, and finally she yanked her wand away._

_"Kill… kill him, Bella," Voldemort panted, and when she looked over to him again, he seemed completely drunk from his arousal. Bellatrix aimed her wand straight at the wizard on the ground and said smoothly,_

_"As you command, husband. Avada Kedavra!" There was a flash of jade green light, and though the wizard's body had already been motionless, the way his life had been snuffed out was almost tangible. In the corner, Voldemort groaned loudly, and Bellatrix stared at him as he came all over his shirt and hand._

_"Was that good enough, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort nodded fervently as his breath shuddered through his parted lips._

_"That was very good, Bella."_

Bellatrix gasped as her eyes flew open. She blinked a few times and noted the time on the electric clock beside her bed. 2:05 am. She sighed shakily and raked her fingers through her hair.

"You too?" Voldemort asked from beside her. She rolled over to face him and gulped. She could tell by the flash in his eyes that he'd shared her dream again.

"Why does it keep happening?" Bellatrix whispered. He shrugged a little, and his voice sounded vaguely strangled as he admitted,

"I have no idea. I never have dreams quite that vivid on my own."

"I'm sorry," Bellatrix whispered, but Voldemort shook his head to shut down her apology. Bellatrix knew what they both wanted - needed - after a dream like that. She was already wet between her legs. She knew he'd be hard. There was no need to mess about; they both needed release and it was the middle of the night. She wriggled out of her knickers under the sheets, and she reached over to pull Voldemort's pyjama trousers down a little. She turned away from him again, backing up until she was resting snugly against him. He adjusted her until she was tipped forward a bit, and he rubbed at her thigh as he gently pushed into her body.

There was nothing vigorous or urgent about the way he rocked against her, though Bellatrix knew they were both in desperate need of climax. He reached around her body and used the pad of his middle finger to draw lazy circles on her clit, and Bellatrix moaned softly. He kissed her shoulder blade and then her neck, and Bellatrix shivered at the feel of his coarse beard on her skin. In and out, in and out, he rocked and pushed, speeding up just a little bit after awhile.

Things started to feel tense and warm after the languorous rubbing and thrusting had gone on for a time, and Bellatrix reached back to squeeze at Voldemort's hip as her climax started to feel inevitable. There was a vivid picture in her mind all of a sudden - her own body, here and now, but from behind her.

Bellatrix froze, her climax dissolving as her mind realised what had just happened. Voldemort grunted and pushed forward harder, and Bellatrix could feel him throbbing inside her body as he whispered her name a few times.

Then she felt it. The orgasm. His orgasm. She felt it coursing through her veins as surely as if it were her own. She felt him thinking about how snug her young body was, how pretty her face was and how he wished he could see her right now.

"Stop!" Bellatrix whispered, feeling very frightened. Voldemort slipped out of her body and kissed her shoulder blade again as he demanded,

"What's the matter?"

Bellatrix sat straight up and whirled to stare down at him.

"I could feel your thoughts."

Voldemort scowled. "No. What? What do you mean?"

He sat up slowly and reached to tuck Bellatrix's hair behind her ear. Suddenly she understood it. All of it. The shared dreams were all his. None of them were neutral, seen by two minds at once. It wasn't that. Her consciousness had stolen them from him. Now her mind was leeching his thoughts away. She flew away from him, scrambling off the bed as his seed trickled down the inside of her thigh.

"Can you… can you think something?" she suggested. "But think it at me. About me and at me."

Voldemort frowned, seeming more than a little concerned. His face went still and stony, and then suddenly Bellatrix was aware of a throbbing question going through his mind.

_Has your mind linked itself to mine somehow?_

"I don't know," Bellatrix admitted. "I don't know about 'linking,' or bonding, or anything else like that. Something's… happened."

Voldemort's mouth fell open, and he blinked a few times as he looked away and said, "It's fine. I'm an Occlumens. A better one than you, even."

"Doesn't this worry you, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. "It's frightening, isn't it?"

Voldemort shrugged and pinched his lips. He stared at the wall for a moment and finally said, "I'll figure it out. There must a good explanation. And if there's a good explanation, then there's a good solution."

Bellatrix did not share his optimism about the cause of any of this, nor about a solution. But she swallowed heavily and suggested,

"Perhaps I ought to go sleep in the other bedroom."

"Don't be like that." Voldemort shook his head, dragging his fingers over his short, greying hair. "Don't act like this is the worst thing in the world. For all you know, it'll be a tactical advantage. We don't have enough information yet. And, to be honest, I'm rather insulted that you're so horrified at the idea of being linked more securely with me."

Bellatrix tried to speak, to tell him that of course that wasn't the problem. She crawled back into the bed and put her hands on his beard as she admitted,

"I'm afraid. That's all. This seems like the sort of thing that ought to be very frightening."

"Well." Voldemort pulled one of her hands from his jaw and kissed her fingers. "I refuse to be frightened. I married you using one of the most intimate incantations that's ever been invented. If the price I pay over time is that you can feel when I come, and that we dream the same dreams, then… well, I'm not afraid of that."

He tipped his forehead against hers, and Bellatrix whispered,

"Please, My Lord… Please promise me you won't destroy me for this."

He snorted a laugh. "Destroy you because you can feel a stray thought every now and then? That's patently offensive, Madam Black. Now kiss your husband, will you?"

She did, letting him push his tongue into her mouth. She felt a powerful but abstract sensation that she knew was his. He loved her; she could feel it.

"See?" Voldemort whispered against her lips. "Not so scary."

"You're the Dark Lord," Bellatrix reminded him. "I'll always be afraid of you."

He ran his fingers over her curls and nodded. "That's fine. But for now, let's try and go back to sleep, shall we? And let's agree to dream about… oh, I don't know. Kittens and a field of daisies."

Bellatrix giggled and shook her head. "Kittens and a field of daisies? I don't think either of us would ever dream such a thing."

"All right, then," Voldemort said solemnly. "We'll dream about Spain."

Bellatrix felt her face go serious, and she squeezed his hand as she lay back down. He curled his body behind hers, and as she shut her eyes, Bellatrix whispered,

"I can still hear the waves out the window."

"Mmm. I'll take you back there," Voldemort murmured. "Every year, I'll take you back there."

"Promise?" Bellatrix asked, and he touched his lips to her neck as he said firmly.

"I promise. Go to sleep, little thing."

Bellatrix felt her lips curl up. "Yes, My Lord."

* * *

**LaGuardia Airport, New York City**

**31 October 1971**

"Why is that child dressed like that?" Bellatrix hissed, and Voldemort glanced behind him to the small Muggle who had trotted off with her mother. The girl had on a black dress made of cheap material, and on her head was a pointed 'witch's' hat.

"It's popular for them to dress up like witches for Halloween," Voldemort said with disdain, continuing through the wide airport corridor. Beside him, Bellatrix scowled and asked,

"Do the little boys dress as wizards?"

Voldemort chuckled and shook his head. "No; I think it's just the girls. Perhaps a stray boy here and there who likes the pointy hat. Does it matter?"

"I suppose not," Bellatrix grumbled, but he could tell she didn't like it. She didn't like them making a mockery of her people, of her culture.

"They persecuted what they could never understand," Voldemort said, quietly enough so that only she could hear, "and then when our people vanished into the shadows, they started making a joke of us. It's why we live away from them, Bella; they're not worthy of our attentions… how could we possibly let them marry into our families or attend our schools?"

"We can't, of course," Bellatrix said, sounding more firm now. They continued to their gate, for they were actually just on the cusp of being late. By the time they walked up to the gate, the door was open and boarding was already happening. Voldemort handed their tickets over and led Bellatrix down the jet bridge. When they stepped on board, she noted,

"This is a bigger aeroplane."

"It is," Voldemort nodded. "It's a 747; it's the newest, largest kind. It'll be far more comfortable."

They found their row of pleasantly enormous seats and got settled, and suddenly Voldemort felt a roiling sense of uneasy anticipation. That was Bellatrix, he realised. She was afraid again. He couldn't blame her; this was only the second flight she'd ever taken. He was far more alarmed by how powerfully he felt her fear, and he gulped as he whispered to her,

"It'll be fine."

"I know," she lied, turning her face from the window and staring at him for a moment with wide eyes. He saw it register on her face. He saw the exact moment she realised he'd felt the same thing she had felt. Voldemort shut his eyes and thought with all his might,

I love you.

"I love you, too," she whispered, and Voldemort thought he might be sick. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and thought hard for a moment. What could be causing this? How could it be that his thoughts and hers, her feelings and his, had become so deeply entangled? She wasn't a Legilimens. And sensing someone else's fear as if it was one's own was not part of the Legilimency Voldemort himself had ever encountered.

"I need to research the Maritus Ceremony more," he mumbled, and Bellatrix asked,

"You think something happened when we got married?"

"I don't know," he admitted, opening his eyes to look at her. He sounded irritated, he knew, but he didn't like not knowing something this important. He shrugged and said, "It's been a year and a half; I would have thought something like this would be manifest already. But I have no better explanation. Do you?"

"No," Bellatrix whispered, shaking her head. She frowned and picked at her polyester trousers then as she wondered softly, "What if it's… no. That's just an old story."

"What old story?" Voldemort demanded, his blood going cold. Bellatrix shook her head again, and he insisted, "Think it, Bella."

He didn't even need to actually use Legilimency then to see straight into her mind.

_Druella Black had all three of her daughters gathered around her, and she was reading from a thick old book._

_"What old Moreau and his wife did not realise was that, after so many years of performing such powerful spells together, the essence of their magic had joined. She could hear him; he could feel her. Mr and Mrs Moreau became more powerful together than any two people ought to be. They could change the weather. They could flatten castles. And they did all this and more, their magic augmenting one another's. So often we hear that Dark Magic and love are incompatible. But the reality, as shown by the Moreaus, is that when Dark Magic and love combine, the power that results is unrivaled."_

_"So what happened to them, Mummy?" asked little Andromeda, and Druella shut the book._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Did they become so powerful that everyone had to listen to them?" demanded Bellatrix. Druella shrugged._

_"I don't know, girls; it's just a story about two people who loved one another and whose magic became intertwined. It's a legend, like all the other legends we read. Now, off to bed with all three of you._ "

Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's mind and glanced around furtively. He cast a wandless spell to completely repel the attentions of the Muggles on the aeroplane, even the stewardesses. He turned his face back to Bellatrix and asked in a soft growl,

"What was that book?"

"I don't remember, My Lord," Bellatrix admitted. "Just an old thing my mother used to read from."

"Is it at their house?" Voldemort snapped, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably."

"We're going there straight from the airport," Voldemort informed her. "If this story is even halfway true, it means several things. First, that there is a tangible result from how much magic, physical connection, and… and love you and I have shared. And second, that the potential of our magical abilities, when augmenting one another, may mean limitless possibilities for me. And for you. For us."

"What do you mean by 'limitless possibilities,' My Lord?" Bellatrix asked fearfully, and Voldemort took her face in his hands as his heart started to race.

"I mean, little thing, that we could rule the entire wizarding world and no one could dare challenge us. That's what I mean by 'limitless possibilities.'"

"It's just a story," Bellatrix insisted, but Voldemort stared straight at her eyes and thought deliberately,

You're not a Legilimens. How are you hearing these words? How am I feeling your trepidation? Is this just a story, Bellatrix?

"No," she admitted, shaking her head. She blinked a few times and said, "All right. We'll go straight to my parents' house."

* * *

**Black Family Residence, Kensington, London**

**1 November 1971**

"Do you know," Voldemort said quietly outside his in-laws' house, "that once upon a time, a wizard told me that love was the most powerful instrument of magic in the entire world. I laughed at the idea, because I thought he was a fool. In any case, I thought I was utterly incapable of love. So I ignored him. But he was right."

"Who was right, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, though she looked like she already knew. Voldemort sighed and said simply,

"Albus Dumbledore."

He stepped straight up to her parents' door and slammed the knocker a few times. Bellatrix stepped up alongside him, and when the door opened, their scraggly little House-Elf stood in the threshold.

"Marley," Bellatrix said as she stepped into the house. "Are my parents awake?"

"No, Miss Bella," Marley said cautiously, bowing respectfully to Lord Voldemort. Marley wrung her hands before her and glanced up toward the stairs. "They is fast asleep, Miss Bella."

"Well, I need you to wake them," Bellatrix said sharply. Voldemort shut the door behind him as Bellatrix continued, "Tell them we're here. Both of us. We'll wait in the parlour."

"Yes, Miss Bella," said the House-Elf. "Make yourself comfortable, Miss."

The House-Elf scurried up the stairs, and Bellatrix led Voldemort into the sitting-room to the left. She sank down onto the divan and yawned a little, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner.

"It's only six," she said with a little smile. Voldemort shrugged.

"Sorry. I haven't any Invigoration Draught."

He knew then how to make Bellatrix's eyes open a bit wider. He turned his eyes away from her and surreptitiously pulled back the sleeve of his dress shirt. He rubbed at his Dark Mark with his thumb, thinking the most lewd thoughts he possibly could. The time in the Doxy's Nest when he'd taken her virginity. Her sitting above his face in Spain. Fondling her wet breasts in the shower. The feel of her clenching around his cock. The feel of coming inside her body. Squeezing her backside until he left marks on her skin.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix hissed, and when Voldemort turned his face back to her, she was gripping the edge of the cushions and breathing through clenched teeth. Her cheeks were scarlet and her lips were shaking a little. She gave him a look halfway between warning and pleading, and Voldemort smirked as he pulled his hand from his arm. She'd almost come, he knew. She'd very nearly lost herself right there in her parents' parlour, and for some reason that made him feel rather happy.

"Bella? My Lord?"

Voldemort turned his head at the sound of Cygnus Black III's voice. He and Druella came walking briskly into the parlour, looking like they'd thrown on the first clothing they'd seen. Bellatrix flew to her feet and straightened her tunic as she said tightly,

"Hello, Father. Mother."

"My Lord," Druella acknowledged, knowing that she must first address her master. She curtsied politely, and Voldemort nodded. Druella turned back to her daughter and asked worriedly, "Is something the matter? It's so early!"

"I apologise for the inconvenient hour," Voldemort said smoothly, staying put in his chair. "We've just come off a flight from New York, so…"

"Has something happened, My Lord?" asked Cygnus, and Bellatrix said to Druella,

"Mother, I'm looking for a specific book. I know we had it when I was young. It was a storybook. Brown leather. You used to read to us from it."

Druella furrowed her brow. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard?"

"No. No, not that one," Bellatrix said dismissively. "I don't know the title, but I'd know the book if I saw it. Actually, I think I'll just go look in the library myself. Why don't you and Father stay down here and… converse with the Dark Lord? I'll only be a moment."

She was already halfway to the stairs when her mother mumbled,

"Of course, darling."

Druella and Cygnus stepped further into the parlour, and Voldemort gestured at their own furniture to give them permission to sit. They did, and Druella asked rather awkwardly,

"My Lord, I mean no disrespect in inquiring, but… Bellatrix is looking for a storybook. Could that be because -"

"Bellatrix is not pregnant," Voldemort snapped, giving Druella a severe expression. Her face flushed red at once, and she nodded quickly.

"I'm sorry, Master. I meant no offense. I didn't mean to assume."

"No, of course you didn't," Voldemort murmured, making his voice sound bored. He drummed his fingers on his knee, and Cygnus tried to ameliorate the tension by asking,

"How was your trip to New York, My Lord?"

"It was… interesting," Voldemort said, tipping his head. He sucked his teeth and said, "This information never leaves this room, Cygnus. MACUSA is unstable. If we have any substantial financial investments in the American wizarding economy, I want you to pull out of them immediately."

Cygnus looked shocked but nodded. "Of course, My Lord. I'll get every Galleon out of American investments at once. Quietly, of course."

"Thank you," Voldemort nodded.

"Found it!" came Bellatrix's cheery voice. She came bounding down the last few stairs and trotting into the parlour, and Voldemort could feel a swell of relief from her. He licked his bottom lip, still confused by the sensation of experiencing her emotions. Bellatrix smiled and said again, "I found it. I've got it."

"Where?" asked Druella with confusion, and Bellatrix tapped her handbag.

"In here. It's Expanded," she said simply. Druella seemed baffled, but Bellatrix barrelled on, "Thank you, Mother. I'll return it as quickly as possible."

"No rush, darling," Druella said lightly. Voldemort knew why Bellatrix had been as discreet as possible with the book. If her mother knew which specific story had caught their interest, their secret might be discovered. That was dangerous, even with people like the Blacks.

Bellatrix gave each of her parents a quick hug, and Voldemort nodded to each of them as he and Bellatrix said their goodbyes and made their way out to the foyer. They each Disapparated, coming to one after the other in the entryway of their own house in St Alban's Green. Voldemort walked briskly up their staircase and straight into his small office, and Bellatrix dutifully followed him. He sat at his desk and waited for Bellatrix to sit opposite him, and he extended his right hand wordlessly. Bellatrix rifled around in her Expanded handbag for a moment, pulling out a thick, weathered brown book. She put the book in Voldemort's hand, and he held it for a half second as he met her eyes and nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Page seventy-two, My Lord," she said. Voldemort opened the book, which turned out to be titled Dark Lore for Happy Children. It was a bizarre title, and when he checked the inside cover, he saw that this particular copy had been published in the 1850s. It was a strange and dour book, he thought, to keep in a home, much less to read aloud to children. But, then, Druella Black had always seemed more than a little dour, and Bellatrix had been a child obsessed with Darkness.

He turned to page seventy-two and encountered the title page of a story called "The United Life of Mr and Mrs Moreau." Voldemort cleared his throat and read aloud from the delicate, aged text.

"Once upon a time, there lived a man called Mr Moreau. He was particularly fond of the Dark Arts from the time he was a small boy. He studied every Dark skill he could, and by the time he was grown, he was feared in his small village. Everyone was terrified of crossing him - everyone except for a beautiful young witch. This witch was not frightened. Rather, she was entranced.

Mr Moreau had long since convinced himself that to fall in love was a sign of weakness, and that to marry would hinder his power. So he paid the pretty young witch no mind for as long as he could. After a time, she became impossible to ignore, and despite his most fervent intentions, Mr Moreau fell deeply in love with her. Soon enough, she had become Mrs Moreau.

Mr Moreau decided to teach his wife some of the Dark Arts he had learnt. She found them enticing, and she happened to possess enormous skill of her own right. Soon, Mr and Mrs Moreau were equally feared, viewed as a dangerous team. Over time, thought, the two of them began to notice a strange nearness of their souls. If Mrs Moreau was in pain, it struck Mr Moreau to his core. If he was happy with his supper, she, too, enjoyed the taste. As the years went on, the bond became ever closer, and the Moreaus became more and more feared.

What old Moreau and his wife did not realise was that, after so many years of performing such powerful spells together, the essence of their magic had joined. She could hear him; he could feel her. Mr and Mrs Moreau became more powerful together than any two people ought to be. They could change the weather. They could flatten castles. And they did all this and more, their magic augmenting one another's.

So often we hear that Dark Magic and love are incompatible. But the reality, as shown by the Moreaus, is that when Dark Magic and love combine, the power that results is unrivaled."

Voldemort sighed heavily and shut the book. He felt Bellatrix's confused unease coming at him through the ether, and he swallowed hard. He stared at the cover of the book and said quietly,

"What fools we've all been. Thinking that fairy tales could never be anything more than myths. How many years did it take for this story to go from fact to fiction?"

"Fact, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked carefully, and he raised his eyes to her.

"Fact, Bellatrix." He rose from his chair and walked around the desk, taking her hand and urging her to stand. She did, and he reminded her, "My dreams become yours. Your fear becomes mine. And now I know why it is that you almost died at the end of the summer."

"What?" Bellatrix's face twisted with visible pain, and he squeezed her hand a little as he said,

"You're strong enough to do the work you were doing. I stole your magic. I just didn't realise that's what I was doing. I almost killed you, because our Magical Capacity had begun to unify. I was pulling from you, and I didn't know."

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix said reassuringly. "I was working too hard. That's all."

"Bella." Voldemort felt a surge of energy inside his body, and though he was relatively certain it belonged to him, he suddenly didn't care. He took her face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth. She squealed quietly against the force of his kiss, and then he promised her, "I won't destroy you. And you won't destroy me. No, Bella. No. This is… this is good, you understand?"

"I think so, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, though her confusion was very obvious. She smiled shyly and asked, "Do you think they were real? The Moreaus?"

"Who cares what they were called?" Voldemort demanded. "What they had in the story was real, Bellatrix. We have that. You and I. And do you understand what that means for me?"

Bellatrix shook her head and looked awestruck. "Tell me."

He kissed her again, far more gently this time, and he murmured against her lips, "Without you, Bellatrix, I would have had nothing. But because of you, I will have everything. Everything."

"Don't you already have everything?" Bellatrix asked, and he studied her wide, dark eyes as he shook his head.

"No, little thing," he said. "There's an entire world of things I do not yet have. But I'll have it."

She quirked up half her mouth and asked incredulously, "Because of me?"

He nodded seriously and touched his lips to her forehead. "Yes, Bella. Because of you. So take my nightmares, and I'll take your anxiety, and your magic will augment mine, and we will conquer the entire world. And then, at long last, because of you, I will have everything."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, there, readers! As you may have noticed, this story, which is a sequel to Troublemaker, is now upwards of 90,000 in the word count. I have decided that expanding on this storyverse is important to me, and I don't want to put a word cap on myself to prevent The Little Boy and the Old Man from getting too long. Therefore, this story will become Part II of the Troublemaker series. I'm not sure exactly how many parts there will be, but the next update I make will be on the third story in the series, entitled A Beast Unto Ourselves.**

**Please, if you have enjoyed Troublemaker and The Little Boy and the Old Man, I would LOVE for you to follow me over to Part III of this series. Like the first two stories, it will be novel-length and will continue to expand on the new plot points involving MACUSA's instability, Voldemort's cementing power in Britain and international aspirations, and, of course, his newfound bond with Bellatrix.**

**Thank you so incredibly much for reading the first two stories in this series. I am so thoroughly enjoying writing in this** storyverse **, and I can't wait to continue to flesh out this plot in A Beast Unto Ourselves. I sincerely hope to see you there.**

**Love to all from LadyBaelish**


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